Run
by DinahWas
Summary: Just extremely frustrated with the show right now. Set right after 4x12. Kenzi and Lauren are fed up and do what comes naturally-they run. My first story here (please be gentle!) and I'm not really sure how long it's going to be or where it'll go. Here for the practice and the fun. Some spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**I own the air in my lungs and even of this, I am suspect. All characters belong to the creators of Lost Girl and Showcase. Just playing in their sandbox for the fun of it. Nothing more. **

Airports were never her favorite of places. Unlike the travelers milling around in anticipation of their boarding calls, Lauren Lewis did not tingle with the anticipation of arriving upon sandy beaches, or imagine the awe of lingering in the light and shadows of ancient monuments or cobbled, centuries-worn streets. The roar of jet engines triggered memories of the march to death or the march of life, if one was so lucky to survive the war zones she had known littered with dusty, sunken eyes and fields of ash and agony. Airplanes and airports reminded her not of homecomings or vacations. They were the stuff of nightmares and although this particular airport, filled with roll-aboards, tuneless piped-in music, neon-lit magazine stands, shelves bowing under the weight of chocolates and digestive aids—all the things the smart traveler should have handy at their seat—Lauren's mind did not give into the cheerfulness of her surroundings. She would not be distracted from her mission: to get as far away from the Fae and as fast as her human skills could take her.

She felt the weight of a body drop into the plastic seat next to her. Lauren spied a familiar pair of black, high-heeled lace-up boots next to her legs. Without looking up, she greeted her, "Glad you could make it. We're only boarding in about ten."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I had all that much time to pack. _Fast and Furious_ best describes this getaway, hey, Dr. Lewis?"

Lauren turned her head toward her companion, a modern courtesan dressed all in black, poured into a corset and topped with a Goth attitude—the doctor's eyes rolled over her with a mix of admiration and melancholy. "You know this person will no longer exist once we get to the other side of the pond," she smiled, more with fatigue than relief or happiness. "And you, Kenz, will have to do some re-inventing yourself." She turned her head away from her friend, "We both do."

Kenzi dropped her head, her hair falling over her face like a curtain and hiding bloodshot eyes. "One thing at a time, Doc. And for the record," she thrust her index finger upward, "I do not do khaki." Several announcements boomed overhead through the airport speaker system and Lauren barely heard the words Kenzi spoke under the din. Maybe she intended to say something comforting or utter a curse word in Russian. The slump in Kenzi's shoulders said everything. Lauren responded by very gently resting her palm on the back of Kenzi's hand, tapping her fingertips lightly as if she were beating and repeating a secret code, _It'll be all right. _Tap_. It'll be all right. _Lauren slowly released her hand and to her surprise, Kenzi reached for it and brought it back to the armrest and squeezed it back, holding on, holding on.

Lauren leaned it to whisper. "Did you get everything?"

Kenzi nodded and answered looking straight ahead, her voice uncharacteristically soft and monotone. "Passports. Medical history. Driver's licenses. Bank accounts. I still got game, _yo._ I feel fucked but this stuff I can still do." She croaked a bit of a laugh, half-heartedly amused at herself. "And you?"

"Plane tickets, _first class,"_ she smiled with pride. "Hotel reservations—I only booked a week. We can decide what's next later. Car rental agreement. Oh, and this—"she fished out a resealable bag from her carry-on.

Kenzi turned and her eyes opened wider, seeing the neat, foil-wrapped wedges. "Pizza?" she exhaled, absent was the usual excitement pizza would bring.

"Just something familiar to help pass the time. I bought a double cheese and sliced it up for the plane. A snack that plays well both hot and cold."

Kenzi squeezed the doctor's hand again. "Everything familiar is what we're leaving behind…but it was a nice thought, Hotpants. Thanks." Kenzi shifted her lithe frame in her seat to face Lauren, her brows pinched low and wrinkling her forehead slightly. "I didn't call her. Just so you know. Did you?"

Lauren shook her head.

Kenzi shifted again. "But do you think we should? I mean, we're both fucked here but still—"

"—Kenzi," Lauren stopped her, her voice gentle. "if you're having second thoughts—"

"No, Lauren, I'm not." Her tone changed, her confidence building as she straightened up in the chair. "Without Hale, there's nothing left for me there. Not even—" she stopped herself as the face of her ex-best friend flashed across her mind but she recovered herself quickly, throwing a weak smile across her lips. "It's Team You and Me now…Team Human and in case I forget to say it, thank you for taking me with you…and for the first class tickets. _Wa-bam!"_

This was the Kenzi Lauren knew, spritely, spirited, the finder of every silver lining but then her head dropped and Lauren figured it must have been because Kenzi didn't want Lauren to see her cry. It was just as well. Lauren didn't handle public crying very well. She, herself, was through with crying. Lauren made a mental note to improve her self-discipline, adopt a more clinical demeanor in as many situations as possible. Easier to recover that way. Easier to think clearer, too. She was through with feeling anything, at least for a while, and that's one thing she and Kenzi shared—the overwhelming desire to close off the world and retreat, somewhere, anywhere as long as it wasn't near the Fae and all the monsters in, over, and under the bed. All connections severed, their resignations tendered and inked in silence. "You know, Kenzi," Lauren wanted to soothe her, "London is a great city. We can try it out, right? And if we don't like it there, we'll find someplace else, anywhere you want, move until we find just the spot that—"

A deep voice interrupted from above. _"This is the pre-boarding call for passengers on Air Canada Flight 909 traveling to Heathrow. Passengers in First Class may now make their way to the gate. Please have your boarding passes visible."_

Lauren and Kenzi nodded at each other, holding each other firmly with their eyes. "Team Human," Lauren smiled with her lips pressed together. "This is it. Are you ready?"

Kenzi sniffed and hugged her quickly. "Let's do this."

Together they rose, inching toward the gate and a future of unfamiliar places, faces, and with any hope, peace and anonymity. Their ride with the Fae was over and if they stayed they had but two guarantees: isolation and quite possibly, death. It wasn't even their fight anymore. Was it ever? Lauren, a woman of science, Kenzi, a survivor of the streets: united in the pointlessness of staying and the need to run. Held together by heartbreak and a little bit of hate, they'd reinvent themselves. Again. That would be enough, wouldn't it? A desire to mend? To write a new story? One where that goddamn Bo could never find them.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Once again, I own many things – but the characters and show of Lost Girl belong to Showcase. Just playing in their sandbox. **

The first forty-five minutes of the flight found Lauren gripping Kenzi's hand so tightly until fear bleached the skin around her knuckles white. The thunderous rumble of the jet engines during take off and landing threatened her the most. An inexplicable fear of flying, another reason Dr. Lewis stayed away from airplanes unless absolutely necessary. Funny, she could face down slimy, spiny human reptiles with yellow eyes and horns or green-skinned soothsayers with mist for hair with nary a heartbeat out of rhythm, but she couldn't steel her nerves on a plane, a simple, every day human invention. Earlier, when the idea of leaving came to her, she had thought of trains (limited distances, couldn't take them far away enough) and ships (mostly pleasure cruises, and besides, the point of leaving was to put as much distance between her and Bo and the whole lot of them as quickly as possible. Booking passage on a ship required too much paperwork for a spontaneous departure.) These ideas began to pepper her thoughts even before she closed the last buttonhole of her blouse in Evony's bedroom. Looking around the art deco suite, reveling in The Morrigan's attempts to hold her panic at bay, Lauren felt a growing claustrophobia—not just in Evony's compound but also in the Fae world in general. Anything and everything could be taken away from her in a moment's notice. Dignity? She didn't even know if she had any left. Fear? Her experiences with it varied, each time escalating the bar of what was defined as scary and delaying the point at which her body would begin to react—the accelerated heartbeat, a tingle on her spine, a cold sweat—it took more and more to get that response. Fear never stopped the fearful thing from coming. It would come anyway, ready or not, just as it did with Bo, the worst of her fears, when Bo chose Rainer over herself, over Dyson, over friendship itself. Bo's words rattled at her even as she pleasured every inch of Evony. _I chose you and you broke my heart. _

_You broke my heart. _Bo had flung the words at her, her voice ringing with anger and hate. _You broke my heart_, the memory of it louder than Evony's moans and demands for more. As Evony sank between her thighs, Lauren held her hand down, pumping her sex into her mouth, angrily, wanting her to choke and suck her broken heart away. She felt Evony smile between her legs, perhaps thinking that it was pleasure she was pulling from Lauren's core. _You broke my heart,_ the words stuck in Lauren's throat as she came, wet heat spilling into Evony's mouth as she arched her back, no other sound but Lauren's labored breath and the triumphant coo of The Morrigan. _I'm doing this for you Bo, everything I do has been for you. Even this._

"Hey Hotpants, ya think I can have my hand back?" The sound of Kenzi's voice brought her mind back to the cool, sour air of the first class cabin.

"Sorry, Kenzi." Slowly, Lauren released her grip and reached for the flute on the table in front of her. A bottle of Veuve-Cliquot chilled in an ice bucket between them. Kenzi's eyes were ringed red not only from crying but also from the effects of her third glass of bubbly. At least the intervals between Kenzi's breakdowns grew from every five minutes to every twenty. "Metallic, cold, and mind-numbing," had been Lauren's response to the flight attendant's inquiry regarding her drink of choice, earning her a prolonged and confused stare. "Champagne," she sighed and the flight attendant turned quickly but not before Lauren spied what she thought was an annoyed eye roll.

Kenzi had wasted no time in acquainting herself with said bottle, no small feat since she had maneuvered the bottle to her glass with one hand, as the other had been in Lauren's death grip until a few moments ago. Lauren turned in Kenzi's direction. She appeared smaller, elfin even, dwarfed by the generously proportioned leather seat—her eyes closed and gripping the champagne flute the way a baby clings to its binky.

"You okay in there?" Lauren asked.

Kenzi's eyes remained closed as she nodded and sniffed back her tears. "This is the most impulsive thing you've ever done, huh Doc."

"One could say that," Lauren smirked. "It's amazing what one can do with an hour and a credit card."

"An hour and the Russian mafia," Kenzi toasted her glass into the air.

"An hour and the Internet."

"An hour and a pile of laundry." Kenzi lowered her nose to her shoulder and sniffed her sleeve, then shrugged looking at Lauren. "Clean. We're clean."

Lauren looked upward, "An hour and the Morrigan."

Kenzi froze. "What did you just say?"

"I think I might have killed her."

_"Who her?"_

"Evony," Lauren took a long, slow sip. Kenzi reached for the bottle and filled her glass to the brim, gulping its contents the way that fish gulp for water when plucked from the sea.

"You just killed my buzz, doc."

"Easy there, tiger," Lauren gently glided Kenzi's hand—the one holding the flute, back down to the tray table. She leaned into her, "Without getting all sciencey, I used her DNA to create a serum which, if it works, will either turn the Morrigan into a bonafide, death-becomes-her human, or—"

"She'll die from said serum?"

Lauren tapped her nose with the tip of one her long, slender fingers. She was just beginning to feel the effects of the champagne that Kenzi was already showing. "Score one for Team Human."

"And Team Smarty Pants," Kenzi smiled. "But what if she doesn't die?"

"She won't be able to hurt Bo. No powers. No threat. Just Bo and her _destiny._" There was sadness in her voice and a reminder to both of them why they had left so abruptly. One hour. One credit card. Two one way tickets to _far far away._

"I don't get it, Lauren—and I don't even want to know what you had to do to get her to drink it. Or did you give the Morrigan one of your famous needles?"

"Nope, no needles. No toys. No spare parts. _Allll_ Dr. Lewis," she said patting the inside of her thigh.

Kenzi tilted her head. Did her cheeks pink up like roses? "No, nope, no details. I don't want any kinda nasty of you and that she-devil in my mind."

"The 'how' of how I gave it to her doesn't matter, Kenzi. She's through. No more Fae powers. No evil agenda."

"And you did this for…" she hesitated and dropped her voice, "Bo?"

"Yup," now it was Lauren reaching for the bottle and signaling to the Flight Attendant to send over another. "A good-bye gift she'll never even know about. That either makes me the biggest buffoon this side of…I don't know, this side of funky faetown or—"

"—the best girlfriend Bo will never deserve." Just hearing Kenzi say those words closed up Lauren's throat, and she felt tears begin to build up in her eyes in spite of the fury with which she was trying to blink them away.

Kenzi, it seems, wasn't particularly fond of public emotional outbursts either and spiritedly, almost spilling champagne on herself, emptied the last puddles of bubbly into Lauren's glass—she steadied Lauren's hand with her own and didn't let go even after she had finished pouring. "One hour. One dead Morrigan. And to you, oh brilliant one." When Kenzi laughed Lauren noticed her ice blue eyes misting over with tears, too. Kenzi continued, "And to the most brave, dangerous—"

"and stupid—"

"—and _selfless_ thing you've ever done." From afar, the pair looked like they were in the throes of something intimate, a lover's reconciliation, maybe even a marriage proposal. In reality, what they shared was loss and the physical exhaustion of constantly having to fight the urge to sob and break into a million pieces.

Lauren coughed and shifted deep into in her seat. "I'm glad you came, Kenzi."

"I'm glad you called."

Lauren wrinkled one corner of her lips and allowed her mind to reach for Bo for a few seconds. Even that was too much. Her tongue was heavy with alcohol and she could hear her words slurring, "I'm sorry about Hale and not being there for you today."

"You're here for me now." Kenzi clinked her glass to Lauren's then gave her an unexpected peck to her cheek, earning Kenzi a look of surprise. "What? I lurve me some first class."

The flight attendant arrived with a second bottle. "Thank you," Kenzi's smile didn't reach her eyes, "and keep 'em comin', lady, keep 'em comin'."

* * *

Midnight. One o'clock. Two, then three. Bo resisted the thought. _Don't I have enough on my plate? God! _Dyson had taken off, shifting into his wolf and sprinting at full speed immediately following Hale's funeral service. He's surely baying at the moon, mourning his best friend, and possibly for weeks if his state of mind was anywhere near the way it had been when he gave his love to the Norn. Tamsin was still in residency in the attic—not much had changed upstairs, physically, except for the absence of her best friend. Almost four o'clock and Rainier had finally fallen asleep by her side. Did all the phones in the world stop working, or just hers and Kenzi's? Lauren hadn't picked up either and Bo sensed it, knew it, for she had been a runaway most of her life, too. Her pulse quickened and for a moment she could see them, shoulder to shoulder, sleeping, blonde hair mixing with hair as dark as night. _No,_ she thought angrily, _Kenzi is my bestie._ Then, _How could they leave me? How could they all leave me now?_

"Are you all right," his dark, honeyed voice cut through the worries of her mind and the silence of the living room.

She was about to tell Rainer about the ache ripping her chest, the pull in her heart. That she had a glimpse of Kenzi and Lauren together but she couldn't see where. But that was impossible. She was a succubus not a psychic. She missed his strength but Dyson needed the time, and he could take care of himself. Kenzi, ninety pounds if that, knew her way around a katana and the streets but without Bo's protection, well, the thought of where Kenzi would lay her head at night, or the relentless punishment the Fae would dole upon an unclaimed human—_her human_—if they found her, she had to stop those thoughts as her mind began to play the screams of a human being tortured. And then Lauren going behind her back to dig up dirt on Rainer, throwing her feelings into Bo's face! _I didn't ask her to do anything for me. She wanted the break, not me. Now I'm the bad guy here?_ Bo had to laugh at herself. _This is rich, isn't it—my three best friends are gone. Except Rainer._ She observed him, his proud walk, his graceful strides, clad only in pajama bottoms, his smooth, slender and muscular chest an invitation, a distraction during the loneliest hour on the loneliest street and in the heaviest heart in all of faedom.

"Are you all right," he asked again. She wanted to ramble and curl herself up into a ball as she told him of the dandelions of worry tickling against her sanity. She wanted whatever war that was coming to be over. She wanted her family here. She wanted to finish the conversation she started with Lauren before Rainer walked in on them yesterday afternoon. She wanted to tell him these things and more but thought better of it. So she lied.

"I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep is all." She lowered her eyes at Rainer, took his hand and led him back upstairs to the bedroom thinking of Kenzi, thinking of Dyson, longing for _her. _

* * *

AN: okay, it's foggy over here. Not sure _where _this is going. Let the fates decide. I'm still thinking this is going to be short only bc I care more about the relationships than world building. Thanks for the encouragement, the reviews, and the follows. Your ideas are welcome, and seriously, THANK YOU. Wow!


	3. Chapter 3

**The characters belong to Showcase and the creators of Lost Girl. I'm here for the fun of it. Like going to the circus but without the peanuts. And the elephants. Just the acrobats and trapeze artists because, well, pink leotards on flexy people is kinda cool. **

**And to my kind followers and reviewers, two words: Thank You. I've never written fantasy – and it's not my milieu. I did my best with the action scene but it just felt a little weird. But there it is. I'm writing this before the finale of Season 4 so it mos def will not reflect whatever the LG writers have concocted for the Big Bad. And, like I said, I don't write fantasy or sci-fi – I'm just interested in the relationships. I still don't know where this story is going. I never imagined that I'd even get this far. Be it short or long, I hope you enjoy the ride. Now, buckle up. **

* * *

"I hate rain. _This _rain." Kenzi fiddled with the hardback book in her hand, mindlessly flipping through the pages of this edition, which, like the hundreds of other tomes in their living room, reeked of dust and to the touch evoked a dampness earned over time and general neglect. "I miss the hotel. Room service, cable porn." Indeed, the continual staccato of the rain as well as the charcoal of the sky, conspired against any thoughts of going outside without a heavy coat, wellingtons, and an umbrella—and Kenzi did not do rubber boots. She was as disconsolate as an empty bottle of gin and the 'closed' sign of a pub.

"Cable porn?" Lauren didn't bother to look up from the double wide secretary desk on the other side of the library. "And I'm sorry about my condition. It's not like I wanted this to happen to me."

"When you're right, you're right."

While Kenzi had only pretended to be interested in the book whose pages she'd been fanning for nearly a quarter hour, Lauren had been immersed in hers—a first edition of the collected short stories of Colette. It fascinated her that the author had written under a male pseudonym until she came out as a female, a revelation that not only increased her popularity but also spelled the demise of her marriage. A woman, after all, should never be more influential than her husband, or so society had dictated so long ago. Her mind shot to Rainer, smug, imagining him pressing against Bo and doing all sorts of things to her body, things that _she_ should be doing, not him. Bo had never come across as submissive until he came along, Rainer, what an asshole. _Shake it off, Lewis. Stop it now._

"You've heard nothing that I've said all day," Kenzi put the book back on the shelf. Their flat, in a former life, had been the top floor of a library. The rooms which they occupied now—two bedrooms, a shared bathroom, the library, a kitchen, and a mahogany-colored room for dining—somehow escaped a 21st century renovation both to its detriment and charm. Flaking wallpaper, irregular heat, talkative pipes, and the faint smell of iron reminded them of the clubhouse. Lauren had found the place online. Strangely, too, that she'd even bothered to look since she the idea of their future barely extended beyond a few hours; leasing a flat intimated commitment, plans, roots—none of which interested her or Kenzi. However, the pictures of the flat lured her in. They never met the owner—the entire exchange, money, keys, short-term lease—happened in virtual territory. It was perfect. No face-to-face meeting. Fewer lies to tell.

Kenzi and Lauren had the entire floor to themselves. The largest room of the flat was the library, complete with floor to ceiling bookshelves and a book ladder that encircled the room on tracks. The flat came fully furnished and thankfully, the beds were roomy and new. For Lauren, it was heaven and she argued it made for a better hideout—they could come and go as they pleased without having to pass through a lobby full of people. Then there had been the night terrors—the real reason they had to find a place of their own. Lauren's ear-splitting dead-of-night screaming fits in her sleep could have roused all of London and brought hotel security to their door on several occasions. Kenzi made up a new lie every time: _Spicy Indian._ _She's on her period_. _Dementia. _Or her favorite, _she has no colon. Think about that, Dude. _Kenzi would say anything to make Security leave fast so she could go back to take care of Lauren. These harsh dreams were new, and something Lauren dismissed as an emotional side effect of leaving Bo and any hope of a relationship with her, behind.

After they transferred to the flat, Kenzi slept the sleep of the dead. The night terrors weren't the only way Kenzi was stirred awake. Sometimes it was the soft voice of her friend. _Get up mouse_, Lauren would say, hoping to coax a smile both of them knew would not come. They strolled the little villages dotting the Thames in search of food, nurturing their hunger and the young seeds of friendship. Every night they'd walk and every night would end with at least one of them drunk and both of them in tears. _Aren't we a pair_, Lauren would say. To which Kenzi would laugh, _I'm never getting laid again._ That's how it had been for months. This afternoon, with the bracing winds sending thick ripples of water against the windowpanes, the flat felt the opposite of summer. Kenzi had had weeks of soggy weather and wanted to burst from her skin. It was books and books and draperies and books and generous helpings of _get me the hell out of here._

"Tell me, Doc, in your professional opinion, which hurts worse: a broken leg or a broken heart?"

Lauren looked up to see Kenzi swinging haphazardly from the library ladder, hanging from one elbow and with one leg threaded onto one of the steps like a monkey. "You keep that up and you'll be our first test case. That thing's pretty old, I'd be careful."

Kenzi propelled herself back and forth against the wall of books. Lauren returned to reading, comforted by the rhythmic squeaking of the wheels on the tracks. "I think," Lauren leaned back in her chair, "that the better question is which takes longer to heal? A fractured leg, all things being equal, will heal eventually. A heart? With all the science and smarts in the world, I don't think a broken heart ever does."

The squeaking stopped. Kenzi felt betrayed, not by Lauren's words but by the beating in her chest, her pulse an insidious reminder that life went on in spite of the horrors one has seen, the bliss one had tasted. Only Lauren understood this with equal intensity. She had lost Nadia and Kenzi had lost Hale. Together, they mourned the loss of Bo—her presence palpable and thick as the dust on the walls.

Lauren heard her friend whisper, "It's like I'm being punished." Kenzi catapulted herself back down the track, palming the spines of books as she orbited the room. "This place reminds me of Trick's study but without all the creepy creepiness."

"Vodka reminds me of Trick _with_ all the creepy creepiness," Lauren sensed a bit of nostalgia in Kenzi's voice and returned it in kind, lifting her eyes to see Kenzi pushing herself to and fro, end to end in the library's expanse, the ladder squeaking and creaking like The Cyclone at Coney Island.

"Hey now, no need to hurt vodka's feelings." Kenzi laid a boot heel on a shelf, bringing the ladder to a halt. She rocked back and forth, flexing her foot against the bookshelf, humming at first softly to herself until her humming became a not-so-subtle message for Lauren to pay attention.

Lauren slammed the book shut emitting a small puff of dust. "Okay, what?" she acquiesced. "What do you need?"

"I want to go out," Kenzi whined.

"Where? Seriously, where? And while we both have plenty to be sad about, I need a night off from drinking my troubles away."

"It's called _therapy_."

"No, it's called cirrhosis of the liver." Lauren shook her head and started to walk towards her friend who had by now abandoned the ladder for the comfort of the couch. Lauren joined her there. The couch faced the window and the two of them silently watched the rain spill across the glass—silvery, fat, relentless stripes. The beat of their sadness, the symbol of their gloom.

"I agree. We should go out," Lauren said to Kenzi. Both of them sat side by side as if at a movie theater, not breaking focus at the windows before them. "But we should _brain up_."

"Oh yeah, because that sounds like two tons of fun." Kenzi rolled her eyes.

"We've been killing our brain cells night after night all winter and midway through spring. Let me take you somewhere. Somewhere other than a pub." Lauren turned to Kenzi, hopping from a sitting position to her knees in one swift motion so that she was not only sitting directly in front of Kenzi but almost on top of her.

Kenzi held her palm up. "Hold on there _ladyness_. We need each other but I don't need you in _that way,"_ She waved her hand over her chest and crotch. Lauren punched a fist into the crook between Kenzi's upper arm and her torso. "So what's your plan?"

"Hamlet!" Lauren bounced with glee.

Kenzi dropped backwards as if she were passing out and faked a very loud, very obnoxious snore.

* * *

**Months earlier**

According to the prophecy, the Pyrippus would merge with the unaligned succubus and together, they would devour, consume, and feed from the suffering of the world to rule and reign forever – unless the Pyrippus could be killed before it claimed Bo's body and soul as its own. Massimo had eaten the Origins seed mistakenly believing that it would make him Fae and omnipotent—and maybe had he been Fae, it would have turned out that way; but Massimo _was_ human and incapable of surviving the surge of evil he would unleash by his own thirst for power. When Massimo ate the seed, it opened a portal through which the evil could enter this earthly plane. Massimo the human died the moment the portal cracked opened, sending his body into the underworld for the Pyrippus to enter and take for his own.

"It's like the exorcist," Bo described their situation. "Except Linda Blair looks like a super model compared to this thing, this thing that apparently cannot die." The Pyrippus only intended to assume Massimo's human form once it ascended. While it fought against the small band of Fae sent to destroy it, it presented its true form: an angry, muscular monster that could best be described as a reptilian horse on steroids, complete with horns, a pointed tail, engorged chest, and wings of fire.

The Pyrippus had slain everyone and only Bo, Rainer, and Tamsin were left. The gleam of Tamsin in full Valkyrie armor was breathtaking but now her armor was dimmed and charred by battle. "This is not good," she intoned to Bo. "It's very possible that this is the end. In which case, it's been nice knowing you."

"Do you see that?" Bo pointed to the side of the altar that the Pyrippus had been defending. There lay the figure of a woman, long, with lean slender limbs and waves of hair that came down to at least her shoulders and obscured her face. She was shackled to the floor by a thick collar and chain around her neck. The darkness, smoke, and intense heat made it difficult to keep ones eyes open for too long before they automatically shut in pain, but Bo resisted and blinked several times to get a better sense of the woman splayed across the floor. Bo focused hard: a tattered gown fell close to the woman's body, blood splatters on the hem of her dress. Her arms bare and toned. The hair light in color. She could see the woman's hands trying to push up from the stone floor, her fingers long and elegant. Bo palmed the top of her head in horror at the realization of who this might be. _Lauren!_

"Bo, you need to focus!" Rainer shouted and jerked her by the elbow. He pointed to the advancing monster whose eyes glowed red with rage. "Remember your purpose, our destiny!"

_Destiny. My destiny is with Lauren_. Bo turned to Rainer and Tamsin. "This thing needs to die and I need to save Lauren." Before they could stop her, Bo took off running toward the woman on the floor.

Rainer saw the monster turn its head as Bo ran toward its prisoner. In the instant that the Pyrippus focused on Bo, Rainer rushed the underbelly of the monster in an attempt to impale its chest with his sword. The Pyrippus burped a cloud of smoke, the sword barely knicked its hide, and the Pyrippus did not falter in its stride. Instead, raising one of its hooves, it crushed Rainer's chest slowly and painfully, the snap of bone and flesh audible to Tamsin and Bo. Bo halted her sprint as Rainer screamed his last breath. Tamsin, who had been frozen on the spot ready to be barbecued to death, shouted for Bo to run. The monster stepped back slowly from Rainer's body, keeping its eyes on Bo, and arching and raising its haunches, bowed its head, preparing to pounce on one of the two remaining warriors.

"Succubus," the word spilled across the monster's tongue like acid, "Come now," it seethed, "come to me." Its eyes pulsed as it peered directly into Bo's eyes, trapping her in its gaze. She was in its thrall, being pulled toward its snout, moments from being consumed by flame.

Tamsin put all her concentration on Bo and without knowing why, shut her eyes and calmly began to speak to her in her mind channeling the power of an unseen force. She harnessed her full Valkyrie power not to create doubt but to instill _serenity_.

As Bo neared the Pyrippus, she felt its heat and her body glowed with pain. She cried out, unable to resist the hot force of evil. The distance between them closed; the monster began to grow, its muscles becoming more pronounced, its scales throbbing with mesmerizing pools of color. Bo felt her own body changing, flesh stretching, her body's curves and muscles extending and becoming disfigured. She felt the will to fight, to stand, drain from her and the only way she was able to stay on her feet, she reasoned, was because of the monster's red stare. _I am the monster and the monster is in me_. This was the goodbye she feared all along. As she was about to take the last step forward she heard Tamsin's voice from within.

_"Bo. Put aside your fear. This is what it wants from you. Rage and revenge is what it needs from you. Your lust is its fire. Do not give in, Bo. You are stronger."_

"No, Tamsin, I deserve this end, " she answered her, "I am now and have always been a monster."

_"We are not defined by the worst we've ever done, Bo."_

"That's not true," tears soaked her cheeks. Bo practically felt the monster's heart beating within her chest. "The people I have killed…"

_"…and the people you have loved. Remember the love. Trick. Dyson. Hale. Kenzi…me."_

Bo's steps slowed.

"_Think of her, Bo. Your true love. Her humanity is your shield."_

Bo's arms had fallen to her side, her shoulders slumped forward in a look of absolute surrender but Bo had yet to release her hand from her sword. At the sound of Tamsin's final words, _Her humanity is your shield,_ Bo felt her senses sharpen and her mind clear. She struggled against the pain that the monster's rage was sending through her body but with it, flowed something more—a reserve of strength and peace she had known only once before, and that was with Lauren. Bo's eyes shifted from black to blue, then to gold. Some might say that it was love that would slay the beast that day, and they would be right.

As Bo's grip tightened on its hilt, the sword and her arm became as one, glowing with the blinding light of a million suns. The Pyrripus reared its head, inhaling and preparing to incinerate her, rising on its haunches in absolute triumph. What Tamsin saw next would become the stuff of legend. Bo swung the sword of light above her head and the sword sang with the song of her heart, striking the Pyrippus straight through its chest—impaling the indestructible, turning it to dust with the force of true love. The monster shrieked in agony and surprise, yet Bo did not release her grip on the sword, instead plunging it deeper with her arm itself entering the wound. The Pyrripus began to tumble heavily, crashing to the stone floor with Bo pinned between its front legs. Puffs of stone and ash enveloped the hall temporarily blinding Tamsin. She was sure Bo had been crushed and there was nothing she could have done to save her.

* * *

Tamsin rushed toward the body of the beast, prying its legs apart to free Bo.

"Hey now," Tamsin whispered when Bo opened her eyes.

"Take me to her."

"Who?" Tamsin brushed the wet hairs from her face.

Bo started to crawl toward the woman chained on the floor. "Lauren!"

Tamsin helped Bo to the longhaired figure on the floor, hidden in shadows but clearly struggling to move in spite of the wide collar around her neck.

"Lauren," Bo cried.

"Try again," the woman in her arms barely eked out, "your brains were always in your boobs."

The woman turned and Bo recognized at once the sauciness, the sarcasm, but not the ancient face she held in her hands. Instead of the smooth pink cheeks of youth, Evony's face was marred by deep crevices, her dark eyes hollow and weak, decaying, her visage a white ruin like the chipped and disfigured pieces found in an archaeological dig. "Evony! How?"

"You care? You got what you wanted. _I'm the Queen of the World!"_ Even in her weakened state she had the bravado to tease the succubus.

Bo lifted Evony gently into her lap. "Here, sit up. Let me help you." Cataracts clouded Evony's eyes, her hair a flat platinum. She wheezed, as if the slightest touch caused her immense pain.

Evony looked up into Bo, expecting pay back. "Ever the victor, how do you do it?"

"You shouldn't be talking," Bo stroked her cheek, observing her timeworn face.

"Sweetie, you shouldn't be breathing."

"Sorry to disappoint you…but Evony, you're—"

"Decrepit? Dying?"

"Deceitful?" Tamsin chimed in.

Evony rolled her eyes to Tamsin. "I deserve that death face." Then, to Bo, "I'm going to do one thing for you, Succubus, this one time, seeing that time is the one thing I now seem to be running out of. I'm going to release you from your burden."

Bo didn't quite understand but intently listened.

"Wanting you dead is all I ever wanted," Evony coughed.

Tamsin cocked her head and smirked, "News flash, _not."_

Evony ignored her. "Wanting you is all _she_ ever wanted."

Bo perked up. "She? Lauren?"

Evony's eyes dropped and closed heavily. "Not much of a thinker, are you."

"Oh no, Evony, you're not taking a powder. Tell me where she is."

Her pale eyes opened, this time with difficulty. "Nobody in the history of history was ever as brilliant as she was…"

"What do you mean _was?"_

"Everything I worked for, gone in an hour, a thousand years snuffed out in a single afternoon. I should have known better…but she was soooo–what's the word–_tasty_." She extended the word, long and sticky like syrup.

"You're not making sense, Evony. What did you do to her?"

"It's not what I did, you Succu-dumbass. _She_ did this to me—_she_ came to me. In my bed. She fucked me and took my powers!"

"Lauren made you human? Is that why you look like this?"

"And some say you're not so smart."

Bo remembered the last time she saw Lauren before she went missing, not returning her calls. _This was all for you. Everything that I do is for you, Bo. In order to make this plan work, I had to make you believe it if I was going to get the Morrigan to believe it. _Why didn't she listen? Why couldn't she see what Lauren had been trying to do?

Evony seized on her frailty and useless affinity for humans. "Just when I was beginning to get a soft spot for that human doctor…but then I suppose you would know that, given your experience with her between the sheets. Such talent. More so the pity…"

Bo looked to Tamsin. Tamsin wanted her to drop Evony on her head. Bo looked down on the Morrigan. "If you weren't dying, I'd tell you to go fuck yourself. "

Tamsin touched Bo on the shoulder. "She's not making sense. Let her go, Bo. She's clearly lost her mind, just look at her." Tamsin tried to pull Bo away, her Valkyrie sense on alert, fearing where Evony was going with this.

"Your precious Dr. Lewis got what she deserved," Droplets of blood stained her pale lips as she spoke. Clumps of grey hair floated to the stone floor and she appeared to slowly be falling asleep.

"Evony! Evony!" Bo shook her.

Evony inhaled deeply and with difficulty, even then, a satisfied smile crossed her lips. She raised her head and continued. "My Massimo. I tried to stop him—wait, no. I didn't. "

Bo feared what she would hear next.

"He wanted to please me even after he discovered she turned me into a human," she pushed against Bo's arms with her last bit of life, wheezing and laughing. "Before he ate the Origins seed, Massimo killed her. She's dead, Bo. _Your _Lauren is dead and you are free from your human lover. Forever!"

Bo's hands tightened around Evony's throat, crushing her windpipe in a blind rage. Tamsin dropped to her knees behind Bo, held onto her upper arms, and rested her forehead on Bo's back. She felt Bo's muscles tense as she gripped Evony's neck.

Her hatred for Bo flickered in Evony's eyes. "I win, Succubus," she gasped, "game over."

Evony's legs stopped kicking and her head dropped to its side. Her gaze froze and her tongue flopped inelegantly from cracked lips. Bo continued to grip at her flesh long after the gurgling from Evony's throat had ceased. Then the sobbing began. Wave after wave of grief crashed into her as violent as any real storm, vicious in its strength and battering everything in its wake, thrashing at Bo's sanity which Tamsin feared might certainly be lost and sinking to the bottom of a black, bottomless sea.

Tamsin pried Bo's fingers from the dead Fae. Evony's head fell back and hit the floor with a loud crack.

"I killed her," Bo sobbed, "I kill everything."

"No, you saved us Bo. You saved us all." Tamsin rocked Bo in her arms as she shook and cried, split open and raw with grief. Bo realized how much Lauren had conceded the day she had walked out of the clubhouse. More than just the argument, she had surrendered her love, her life-and for what? To be stepped over so easily as if she were a dirty penny on the street not worth a second or even a first glance. How had Bo allowed herself to be so careless with the gift of true love? She remembered how Lauren had left, wordlessly and without recrimination. _This was all for you, _Lauren had said, _Everything I do is for you. _In this moment and like many before it in the grand scheme of personal revelations in either Fae or human history, Bo understood at last the full meaning behind Lauren's words, the suffering her callousness had caused, and the high price exacted for her arrogance; but like good advice or the best intentions, Bo's realization came too late for it to do her any good.

* * *

The very night that Bo had slaughtered the Pyrippus and choked the light from Evony's eyes, Lauren and Kenzi shared a bed in a luxury hotel in London. Without warning and in the thick of night, Lauren began to thrash and shriek, frightening Kenzi out of a deep sleep. Lauren swore her flesh was on fire and that her neck burned with the heat of a dragon's breath. This would be the first of Lauren's unexplained night terrors. The mattress felt like stone. Her ears were infected with screams of the damned. Lauren could not be consoled no matter how long or how tightly Kenzi clung to her. She sobbed until her chest heaved hollow and dry.

"We have to go back," Lauren wept.

Kenzi held her close and felt Lauren's tears soak through her nightshirt. "Shush, honey, it was just a bad dream."

"No, it's not. Please, Kenzi, we made a mistake. Let's go back," she repeated, shivering.

"Why?"

"I don't know—it's, it's a feeling."

"Lauren," Kenzi whispered and rocked her back and forth repeating these words over and over until they became their own private lullaby, "We can't go back. You know we can never go back."

* * *

**dun-dun-dun. Thanks for taking the time to read this. **


	4. Chapter 4

**The characters belong to the creators of Lost Girl and Showcase. Thank you for reading and for everyone who posted a review. Still don't know where this is going but have glimmers of an idea. Your ideas and reviews welcome. I hope this all makes sense and as always, may the ride be pleasant and joyful. **

* * *

The distance between their flat and the West End appeared as little more than a short, comfortable walk Lauren estimated after reading the heavily creased and frayed Metro map she kept folded in the back pocket of her jeans. Twenty minutes in, Lauren had yet to get her bearings as she and Kenzi marched past shops and gastro pubs and rows of white Georgian townhomes and down vaguely familiar boulevards teeming with busses and shiny black cabs flying by at a rallying pace. Now and again the savory and varied aromas of food being served teased their noses and made their stomachs tremble with hunger. Yet Lauren refused to pull out the map in her pocket—and made a mental note to buy a proper one—for fishing it out would only affirm to herself and to Kenzi, and no Kenzi shouldn't ever know, that she had horribly miscalculated the time it would take to get to the Haymarket on foot as it was becoming a very real possibility that they were lost. She kept on at a brisk pace even in the face of an agitated Kenzi who muttered, "This is the death march to Hamlet!"

"Next you'll be saying 'are we there yet?'" They stopped abruptly, shoulder to shoulder, when the traffic light beamed red. Lauren felt, even without breaking her focus, that Kenzi was already forming her mouth to say just those words. "Don't," Lauren held her hand up to Kenzi's face.

"You know you want me to," Kenzi teased.

"No, I really don't."

Kenzi put a light hand on Lauren's shoulder and squeezed. "You used to be a lot of fun."

Lauren shrugged herself free. "You never thought that about me, ever."

"You're right," Kenzi acknowledged, "but that was before. And here we are, the tour of the damned!"

Lauren returned Kenzi's smile. "Why don't I catch you up on the story of Hamlet."

"Dragging me on the Hell tour of London wasn't enough? There better not be a test."

"Shakespeare isn't for everyone, true, but it can be more enjoyable if you at least have a baseline understanding of the story." She said all that without blinking. The light turned and without thinking, Lauren grasped Kenzi by the elbow and dragged her into a determined pace forward, hopeful that they were going in the general direction of their destination.

"Okay! Okay! And you don't have to be so grabby. I can walk just as easily as you can even in these fabulous _kicks_,"she referred to her black boots with heels so high one could easily imagine several ankle sprains in the making. Thankfully, there had been an inexplicable break in the rain just as they were preparing to go out for the evening, which Lauren took as a happy omen; but with her Russian upbringing and general distrust of sudden shifts in people and weather, Kenzi felt uneasy. She respected superstitions, gut feelings, things that went bump in the night. She felt caged in her skin, wanting to be able to rip it off and free the cold bones beneath them. Maybe it was nothing, or something. She decided to chalk up her discomfort not to a bad omen but to a promise to keep the evening strictly alcohol free, and Kenzi dismissed any sinister inklings that teased her senses.

Lauren looked upward, noticing the hint of stars and wisps of pink and lavender dappling the sky. When they had left their flat, the sky shimmered brightly with afternoon light. Dusk appeared briefly here, a clinical interruption between day and night, not at all like the warm, symphonic sunsets of the tropics; by the taint of this sky, Lauren knew it was nearly eight—and at eight o'clock the curtain would rise in The Haymarket and upon two empty seats in the front row of the Orchestra unless they got there in time. _Why do the simplest things somehow get so difficult? The Great Wall of China would be easier to find at this point!_

"Me think the doctor doth think too much!" Kenzi waved a hand over Lauren's face. Without realizing it, they had progressed a block without Lauren having uttered a word. Just as Kenzi had earlier, Lauren experienced a mild and sudden sense of alarm. She became aware of a cold tingling in her belly and an urge to reverse course and run. Her mind began spinning through a catalog of probable causes when Kenzi's voice interrupted the search.

"Are you going to tell me about this play, or not?"

Lauren cleared her head and spoke. "Yes, okay. Hamlet. It opens with a ghost of a dead King, also named Hamlet."

"I'm loving it already!" Kenzi sidestepped a puddle with a small hop. The afternoon created an obstacle course of ponds and puddles, which Kenzi navigated with the grace of a swan in spite of her heels. A cab rushed by close to the curb and straight into a deep pool of water, surprising Kenzi with a sudden and hefty spray of muddy rainwater. "You're a wanker number niiiine!" she shouted as the cab sped away.

"Is that it? That's the best you have?"

"Was that not the proper use of _wanker?"_

Lauren continued, "The old king was murdered by his brother, Claudius, who then took over the kingdom by marrying his sister-in-law—his dead brother's wife, Queen Gertrude.'

'Dead King Hamlet commands his son to avenge him by killing his Uncle Claudius. _It's your duty_, the ghost tells him but Hamlet is confused and torn up inside. Should I do it, should I not do it?"

"Hammy Davis Junior!" Kenzi squealed. "Get it, see what I did there?"

Lauren squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Sorry," Kenzi suppressed a smile. "Yeah, I guess being told to murder your funny uncle by a ghost can be kinda complicated."

"It gets better. He's dating—or is he engaged—to Ophelia who is head over heels with Hamlet. But that's complicated, too. Ophelia's brother sees Hamlet for what he is and warns his sister to be very careful with her heart. Hamlet, he reminds Ophelia, is of royal blood and he will choose his princely destiny over love."

"Now, who does _that_ sound like?"

Fragments of her last conversation with Bo flashed into Lauren's view. _He's my destiny…you choose him, is that it?_ "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Kenzi. Let's go home."

Her face was beyond sad; the weariness of living through a relentless parade of disappointments, death, disruption to her hopes of a normal life, had dimmed the light in Lauren's eyes-if there ever had been any light in them before life with the Fae. Lauren evoked a beautiful portrait of misery, a reflection of Kenzi's own and denied state of mind. They missed her; they resented her, Bo, and the ease with which she threw them both away. They battled daily in their own way not to surrender to the aches of regret threatening to callous their hearts. They ran for a reason, a reason called Bo. Kenzi stopped and placed her hands squarely on Lauren's shoulders, forcing them face-to-face. "Thanks to that cabbie, I'm soaked to the skin. If I can suck it up, so can you. And besides, I thought you said we needed to _brain up_. You had me at Geraldine—"

"_Gertrude,"_ Lauren corrected with a smirk. "Hamlet's mother."

"Yeah, whatever," they started walking again. Kenzi jammed her hands into the pockets of her too-tight jeans. "This girl—"

"Ophelia?"

"She's coo-coo for cocoa puffs for Hammy Junior?"

Lauren adored her abuse of language, smiling to herself as they entered the West End and hearing Kenzi speak of Hamlet as if it were a soap opera, which it was. A very old soap opera. "Yes, head over heels," Lauren answered, "She'd never been sure exactly how Hamlet felt for her and all she wants to know is _Do you love me? Me for me?"_

Neither of them even bothered to hide that it was Bo they were talking about now. "Walks like a duck, talks like a duck…"

As Lauren got Kenzi's meaning, she slowed to a more relaxed pace. Perhaps it was as good a time as any for them to be silent and allow their private thoughts on love to have its moment of distraction. For such a strong and straightforward emotion, love left so many people troubled over love's ambiguity and complexity, enough for plays to live on for centuries and for broken hearts to throw curses at happiness and lean on bad poetry to mend their breaks. Love and duty. Love and friendship. Love against love. Time did not ease mankind's propensity to hurt or be hurt in the name of Love. The sorrows of love, they both mused, are timeless.

"Are you sure you still want to go?" Lauren broke the silence.

"I'm sorry, Lauren. Maybe this is what we need – a good healthy dose of what the fucks. It's your turn tonight. I wasn't much of a student but here we are! In London! Tea and Shakespeare! Learning shit! Tell me the rest of the story and let's do this. Otherwise we both know what will happen. I'll get you drunk. You'll want to get up all on this," she motioned her hands over her body.

"Yeah, right, no."

"And then I'll have to say, 'Back off woman, I'm not that kind of girl.'"

Lauren dropped her eyes, smiling, both of them sharing a light moment. Then, the laughing stopped. Kenzi felt a wave of melancholy wash between them just as it had earlier in the flat. A blank stare swallowed whole Kenzi's moment of delight at making Lauren laugh.

Lauren noticed the shift immediately. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no" Kenzi inhaled and making the mental shift. "But you, Hotpants, are the kind of girl that needs her mentals massaged every once in a while or it'll turn to cheese."

"Is that your professional diagnosis?"

The two of them hugged, separating only when Kenzi stepped back and tugged at Lauren's sleeve. "Now," she said, wrinkling her brow, "what were you saying about that flip-flopping Prince Hamlet?"

"So, you _do_ listen?"

Lauren spied the columns of the Haymarket as they turned a corner, bringing to her no end of relief. They had made it all this way without Kenzi realizing that Lauren got them there by intuition, so unscientific of her, and with about five minutes to spare, just long enough for Lauren to wrap up the Kenzi-condensed version of Hamlet. To her surprise, her telling of the Danish tragedy inspired Kenzi's curiosity. "Wait, Hamlet pretends to go insane to fool his uncle into thinking, what?"

"That he was no threat, an easy target. To keep the power he stole, Claudius must kill the true heir to the throne, Hamlet. Sadly though, while pretending to be crazy Hamlet unwittingly confirms Ophelia's fears—that he never truly loved her at all. It's more than she can bear and with her heart broken wide open, Ophelia throws herself from the castle walls, and dies. Then Hamlet gives a long and punishing speech filled with guilt. He grieves knowing that her death is on his hands. Ophelia walked into the arms of death thinking that he never loved her, which, in fact, was not true at all. He adored her."

"Promise me you won't ever do that," Kenzi put a gentle arm around Lauren's shoulder.

"Not even a murmur in my thinking."

"Good, because you probably would look terrible floating in a moat. So cut to the chase: how does the story end? Happily?"

"More like gallantly. Hamlet kills his uncle, accidentally poisons his mother, and dies in a duel by a cut from a poisoned sword. He fulfills his destiny and avenges his father's death. He chooses honor over love and earns a hero's burial."

"Intense. A regular _faery_ tale. Reeks of home."

"Try to think of it as entertainment. Oh, and Hamlet wears a lot of black. Mostly black, in fact."

They stood in front of the box office. "Good fashion sense and tragedy. How can I resist?"

By then, they'd made it to the teller in the window who asked Lauren, "Name please?"

"Dennis. Bo Dennis."

Kenzi's eyes grew wide with irritation. "That's the name you used? Seriously?"

"Just one last time, Kenz. I promise." Lauren took the tickets out of the envelope and reviewed them.

"Where are we sitting?"

"Center. First row. Ready?

Kenzi waved her arm with a small flourish as they walked toward the inner doors of the theater. "My lady."

They smiled at each other. They survived the walk, dirty puddles, and memories of Bo that seemed to muddy everything. For the next two hours, they hoped they could forget and just see themselves as happy survivors, glad to have made it through one more day, one more memory.

The houselights went out moments after they sat in their seats, which, as Lauren had said, were in the front row and so close to the stage that even during blackout they were fully illuminated by the stage lights.

Lauren leaned to Kenzi on her left, whispering, "Try not to fall asleep. We're in the sight line of the actors and they probably _can_ see us."

After several scenes into the play, Hamlet entered, familiar. In black as he always was. The soul patch and untamed hair. This was no costume at all. The voice sealed it in his first words, _"__A little more than kin, and less than kind."_ It is a line meant to be spoken as an aside, not to the other characters, but to the knowing audience as if to say, _This is our secret_. The actor-playing Hamlet spoke his line looking up at the highest row, roaming the house and lowering his gaze tier by tier until his gaze fell upon the rows closest to the stage. His eyes stopped a moment, twinkling, but neither woman knew if it was the character or the man who made eye contact with them. Kenzi and Lauren held their collective breaths.

Kenzi felt rage rising within her. "Holy shit balls."

Lauren grabbed Kenzi's hand in a panic. "Good God."

There was more than one ghost in this play. Peering directly at them with a mixture of menace and melancholy, stood the man they could never figure for friend or foe: Vex.

* * *

They squirmed through Act I and as soon as the curtain dropped, Lauren and Kenzi toppled over a few elderly patrons in their rush to get to the exit doors and the street beyond. Once back at the flat, they packed in a frenzy. Kenzi went to work immediately, tapping into her computer in search of a flight to anywhere, again, far and fast. She thought about how she fumed at the sight of Vex. Lauren had to practically sit on Kenzi's lap to keep her from leaping onstage and wrapping her fingers around Vex's neck in a chokehold. By the time they got back, Lauren managed to dial down Kenzi from white rage to fuming.

Kenzi called out to Lauren in the bedroom. "We got a flight. How does Barcelona sound?"

Lauren's voice was clinical and focused. "Like a dream, I'm sure."

Kenzi emerged in the doorway of Lauren's room. "If we stay, he'll kill us both...or worse." Kenzi imagined the many ways she could make him suffer for letting Massimo go instead of helping her avenge Hale's death.

"At this point, what could be worse than dying, Kenz?"

"Seeing Bo?" Kenzi crossed her arms.

Lauren kept her head low, focusing on stuffing her few belongings into a suitcase and stocking the medical kit she never seemed to be without. "What we need to do is…" she paused, gathering her thoughts, "I don't know what I'm talking about. Just got to keep moving."

Kenzi nodded absorbing Lauren's pain into her own—what a milky soup they were. "I'll be ready in a sec," she said to her friend as she made her way back to her own room, "I'm going to get us into a hotel. Just a few nights."

Together they agreed, "We'll decide from there…"

It didn't take very long to abandon the place they had called home for months. Kenzi waited in the hall as Lauren said her good-byes to the place, a ritual she would repeat soon in the next place and the next. Lauren took a final look around in the abandoned library. She had taken solace in the spines and pages of the stories lining the walls—would hers be added there, too, she mused. Impulsively, she grabbed the collection of _Colette_ she'd been reading and slid it into her leather duffel. _For good luck, _she thought to herself. Then, as she took in a breath of the dust-filled room in the hope of cementing this ghostly place to memory, Lauren spied a familiar title, one of her favorites. _Peter Pan_. Echoes of her childhood returned, how she fell in love with the mermaids, and yearned to be lost, the crocodile, _Smee_.She had to smirk at the irony of playing in a real world of human alligators, monsters, and faeries. She grabbed the book and placed it in her bag next to _Colette_. _For I am lost, too,_ Lauren thought, and any ideas of ever returning home vanished as she and Kenzi disappeared into the night.

* * *

The Mesmer coerced the Box Office Manager for information, forcing the hand of the stooped and balding man to rifle through a stack of paperwork to produce the manifest of attendees at the performance. Vex dropped the man roughly and grabbed at the piece of paper. There, under the list marked _Will Call_, he saw proof that his eyes had not been playing tricks with him. _Bo Dennis. Row A. Seats 1 and 3. _

_She might kill me. They both might kill me. But I must try for everyone's sake._ And with that Vex made the decision to find them at any cost.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry this took so long. Life happens. Seasons end.** **I may have obsessed a bit over this one but I promise this is going somewhere and we are nearing the end. I am humbled that anyone cared enough to read this little idea that somehow turned into an adventure. Thank you for your reviews and comments. Ideas, encouragement, and feedback welcome. Enjoy. Let's take a trip together. **

**The characters belong to the creators of Lost Girl and the Showcase network.**

* * *

"Bourbon, Trick. And keep them coming, would you?" Bo opted to sit on a stool at the bar rather than at a private table at the back. She felt the eyes of her subjects roll upon on her as if she was some Hollywood starlet hobnobbing with the regular folk who, through manners and general giddiness at seeing their Queen in such an ordinary way station, regarded her from a distance. She heard their murmurings and sensed their fear of making eye contact or uttering words that might offend. For her subjects, this sighting was rare. For Bo, the Dal was just the Dal. The infectious boom of the music thumping on the speakers overhead, the general and deepening euphoria as the night wore on, the crack of the pool cue as a fresh game began—all familiar and nostalgic, which left Bo wanting and waiting for one of the old gang to come in and set the Dal right, making it their place again.

Trick gave a generous pour of the amber liquid, the muscles on his face sagging after a hefty sigh directed at Bo, "My Queen."

"Trick, you don't have to call me that. I'm still me inside. Your granddaughter?"

"And I could not be more proud to call you my Queen," he smiled.

She took a short sip of the drink he put before her. "How does that line go, heavy hangs the head that—"

"—_wears the crown._ Yes, I know." Trick remembered his time as the Blood King, a chapter of his long life of which he was not too terribly proud.

Bo played with the empty glass, spinning it like a top. "Being Queen isn't all that it's cracked up to be. I understand it's all for the greater good—"

"—the laws you're enacting are history making and impressive." Trick referred to the uniting of Light and Dark and Bo's stance on legislating rights for humans, banning discrimination against them, and barring their torture and enslavement. "Kenzi would have been so proud."

Bo waggled her empty shot class. Trick parked the bottle in front of her. "Some good pride does me now," Bo shrugged. "I have a kingdom, big whoop."

"You are the most powerful Fae ever in history. No great thing ever comes without a price."

"No friends, no family," she peered over at him, "no offense, Trick."

"None taken."

"Just the same, that's a pretty steep price tag." Bo let her gaze circle the room, taking in the clusters of Fae feasting on the joy of being preternaturally young, almost daring time to stop by sheer exhilaration. In another time, it would have been the most natural thing for her to engage with the lot of them, to lick the sugars of life that dangled at the tip of her tongue: drinking, brawling, indulging every desire. The exuberant and sensual pleasures that might have welcomed her here were replaced by the harshness of being a party of one. Try as she might to resist the notion, she still half expected Tamsin, Hale, Dyson, and Kenzi to appear at any second only to have that hope dashed and dashed again. Her present situation may have made the most powerful of all Fae but it also gifted her the loss of the people she loved most and a life bereft of happiness. That she felt such self-pity only aggravated her more. If time could stand still then she'd want to go backwards and have it stop when Kenzi loved her and Lauren still lived, and contentment rested in the palm of her hands. But there are no do-overs for humans or Fae or even in Bo's case, the Queen of them all.

Trick caught Bo glancing about the room, as well as the weariness in her eyes. "When was the last time you fed?"

She turned her back to the room. "Last week? Maybe longer."

"You can have the Fae of your choosing. "

"Not interested. I've become more of a grab-n-go, girl."

"Bo, without a full feed," Trick started before Bo cut him off.

"My energy is perfectly fine, Trick. Plus, I'm not in the badass business anymore and I employ plenty of people to get into fights on my behalf," she laughed to herself. "In fact, I might be getting a little soft around the edges when it comes to hand-to-hand combat."

"Oh, the good old days," he teased her.

After her victory in closing the portal to hell, Bo's focus turned to _the great work_, as her advisors called it: listening to one lobbyist after the next. She refereed between bickering council members to exhaustion. She would have given her royal right arm to be back with Kenzi, solving Fae crimes by day and drinking and making love to Lauren by night. The idea of feeding off others filled her with a taste as bitter as ash. Not feeding kept her in a steady yet mild state of lethargy, fueling her one desire: to be left alone. Trick inquired if the royal physician that attended her was aware of Bo's feeding habits. "Yes, and she gave me a clean bill of health, and thanks to the injections Lauren created for me, I'm fine. And before you say anything Trick, I do have a steady supply of the serum. You can stop worrying."

Trick understood this was Bo-speak to just drop it. "As you wish my Queen."

A brawny and tattooed giant stood sentinel this entire time at the front door of the Dal. The few Fae he had allowed to get close to him in life knew him as a man beautifully out of sync: with his bare hands he could crush bones into dust and with his heart, recite poetry with a love so pure that the tremble in his voice could make roses both bloom and die on the vine. Bruce had been despondent over Kenzi's disappearance, and Bo appointed him her personal bodyguard more or less because they both felt deserted by love and empathized each other's melancholy. "I've forgotten if it makes me feel better or worse to come in here," she said to no one in particular. Then, turning to Trick, "I have one more stop before I call it a night."

"A Queen's work is never done," he reached out and put his hand over hers. "Invite me up. Or do I have to storm the castle just to see my granddaughter?" he joked.

"The invitation is always open for you Trick. Seems like you're the only who ever comes to see me without an agenda."

* * *

Bruce drove Bo to the deserted building at the side of the freeway. He looked up at her in the rear view mirror as the car slowed, kicking up gravel in its wake. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

The car came to a stop. She opened the car door herself this time and strode to the front of the ramshackle house. Bruce lumbered after her. His Queen instructed him to pry open the wooden planks nailed to the front door; he stripped them off with ease as if they were made of cardboard. When Bo became Queen, the elders advised her to take up quarters more fitting to her royal rank and station. _A queen does not live in a hovel_, they instructed. So she moved into a shinier, smarter part of the city. Still, she wanted the clubhouse kept intact for Kenzi's return, which she believed to be inevitable. Months went by and the inevitable became the impossible, and Bo had the place sealed up—a symbolic shuttering of the past, silencing every ghost, shutting out every story, any reminder that not too long ago she had lived free and all the complaints she ever voiced about her life had been but the whines of a petulant child. The pull of nostalgia had been too strong this night, however, for Bo to just drive by the house as she often did—then there was the charm Bruce had innocently shared with her in a moment of exhaustion. The scholar in medieval favors recalled a poem that, when recited over an inanimate object, could project images and memories associated with said object's owner, and make them visible to the eye.

"So what you're saying is," Bo responded a bit eager for Bruce's comfort. "I'd be able to see Kenzi or Lauren? Just by saying a few words in _Icelandic pentatheter?"_

"Iambic pentameter," he corrected. In that moment, he wished he hadn't mentioned it at all, for he knew that the charm came with its own set of side effects. While seeing the memories stored by someone's old possession provided a respite from grief, it was also highly addictive.

And that's what led them there this night and into the drafty lean-to she once called home. It was colder than she remembered, damp and darker. The velvet couch, the red of a Victorian bordello. The industrial refrigerator suited for a convenience store, not a home. The pod of laptops crowding the desk—mostly borrowed by Kenzi from sources unknown. Relics, all, of days gone by.

"Bruce, I know this might be much to ask, but would you wait for me down here, while I go upstairs?"

Bruce clasped a fist to his chest and lowered his head. "I understand my Queen."

"We're alone, you can call me Bo."

"As you wish my Queen," he nodded with a pleasant expression. "I'll be here. "

Bo smiled when the stairs creaked under her weight. She could almost hear Kenzi laughing as she made her way into her old room. She imagined tumbleweeds, mini dust cyclones spinning about in the wind, whispers of souls unable to pass on from this reality to the next—when really, it wasn't the voices from purgatory calling to her but her own, the one unable to move on from her past. Kenzi's hairbrush sat at the top of the bed, near where the pillow used to be. Bo held it to close to her chest, her eyes tightly shut. She remembered the nights they'd spent in this very spot, laughing until it felt like their bladders would burst.

She wanted to linger but a sudden feeling of overwhelm crowded her and there was one more room to see, the one at the other end of the stairs, the one she shared briefly with Lauren. She opened a drawer, searching, until she found the old t-shirt Lauren wore to bed. _What a pathetic cliché_ _I am,_ she laughed to herself. _If it didn't hurt so much to make fun of myself, I would._ She went to another drawer, again searching, until she found the box that held the necklace from her true love, the love she threw away. She took one long look around. This had been a home once and Kenzi had been the light of everything in her life, and Lauren, too, the twin suns of a universe that burned brightly and extinguished far too soon. Without them, this place was as cold as a museum.

Bruce's chest rose and fell in relief when she emerged again in the hallway. He noticed the items she held in her hand. "My Queen, let me take those for you."

"It's all right Bruce. I feel better already just holding them." She held back the sting of tears threatening to burst through.

He wanted to hug her but stopped himself. She was the Queen and he, her servant. "I miss them, too." He took a slip of paper from his pocket and waved towards the red couch with one of his giant arms. He followed her and watched as she laid the brush on the coffee table, keeping Lauren's things on the couch by her side.

He cleared his throat and puffed out his already enormous chest. "My Queen, it is said that a faery wrote this incantation for a human who had lost his beloved and was in such a state of grief to make the faery take pity on him. According to legend, she cast a spell on these words to help heal his pain. 'But you must be careful', she warned him, 'the loss you feel now is real but what you will see, is not. They exist only in the past. Your life is in the present. Use this gift sparingly, and you will heal. Abuse this gift, and you risk losing yourself in a dream forever.'"

"So it comes with fine print, this little piece of poetry. Consider myself warned."

Bruce handed his Queen the poem. "Read it aloud, then focus on Kenzi's hairbrush. As the caller of the memory, only you will be able to see it." Then he bowed and went to the kitchen to give her privacy.

"Here it goes then," she sighed, and recited the poem.

* * *

**Barcelona**

"_Am-boor-gessa, _the 'H' is silent," Lauren over pronounced the Spanish word to Kenzi, who lounged beside her hidden beneath a wide brimmed beach hat and sunglasses the size of a small continent. Lauren had just ordered lunch from the cabana boy and was translating the conversation for Kenzi.

"Or you could just speak in the international language of lurve and just say 'burger and fries. _Dos por favor_ and make it speedy, gonzales."

Kenzi's stare did not waiver from the horizon, or so it appeared. Her eyes combed the sands of Bogatell Beach, alert to any potential threats from unwanted Fae. Lauren and Kenzi appeared as a pair of gringo tourists in tropical-colored bikinis, and not as fugitives from an ancient race of supernatural creatures, and from one in particular, the Mesmer they fled from months ago. To their surprise, he didn't follow and, after insisting that they could not stay shut-ins forever, Kenzi eventually got her way and a day on the beach. The Mediterranean slammed into the shore in high, angry waves that, in spite of their strength, did not seem to deter tourists from trying to wade into the surf.

_Searing. Brutal. Intoxicating. Sensual._ Lauren passed the time on her rented lounge chair searching for words to describe July in Barcelona. _Passionate. Intense. Eager._ _Bo._ _No, not Bo. Bo is not an adjective._ She had been lying face down on the beach chair and the thought of Bo sent rivulets of lust that ran from her heart to a very specific spot between her legs, noticeably heating up and gaining moisture. The mounting sexual frustration was becoming more and more difficult for her to dismiss.

"Whoa, whoa!" Kenzi spun her head away and held her hands straight out to block Lauren from view. She had released the clasp of her bikini top to avoid a tan line on her back. When she flipped over, Lauren decided to drop the whole thing instead. Half a year ago the thought of baring her breasts in public would not have occurred to her but little by little, perhaps because of this transient life and the thought that no one really would care about one more topless European on a topless beach, she dropped her bikini bra and any pretense of modesty. Out they came. Two perfectly smooth, alert, and gravity defying breasts reaching for the warmth of the sun without a care in the world. She surveyed herself and allowed a moment of vanity. _I still got it,_ she smirked to herself.

"Don't look if it bothers you. It was your idea to come here," she said to Kenzi.

"Yes, but not my idea to get so, so—" Kenzi waved her palms a fair distance over Lauren's chest, "_personal."_

_"_You've got a pair. It's not like this is new," Lauren surrendered her body weight to the chair with a sigh.

Kenzi avoided all eye contact. "Oh, they're new to me all right."

Lauren laughed. "You got sisters, too. Ever think they might like a little air?"

"If that's your idea of sexy talk you are not only barking up the wrong Kenzi, you also suck."

"I love it here," Lauren felt the tension she stored in her muscles ease a bit. She moistened dry lips with a flick of her tongue, which reminded her that they both needed to hydrate in this heat. But she was too relaxed to reach for the water bottle cooling in the shadow of her lounge chair. She relished this boneless feeling basking under the blanket of summer heat, the cymbal crash of the Mediterranean at her feet, and her best friend on watch by her side. A good beachside nap was well deserved and on it's way.

"We're having a really good run here, aren't we Doc?"

"Yup."

"You think he forgot about us? Maybe didn't see us?"

"Nope."

"Then why hasn't he shown up yet?"

"Dunno."

"How long have we been here?"

"Awhile."

"For a smarty pants you're not a very good conversationalist," Kenzi's annoyance came out a little too strong.

"And you could never take a vow of silence." Lauren sat up, propped up on her elbows, casting her glance to the shore. "You know what we need, Kenzi?"

"Lunch?"

"That's coming," Lauren laughed. "I was going to say a dip in the ocean.

"Nope, not gonna happen. I never get my hair wet in public. Bad for the image," Kenzi tossed her hair back.

Lauren regarded Kenzi's long, glossy mane of hair. "If I was looking for you, I'd spot you in an instant." In a single, fluid motion, Lauren lifted herself from a lying position, up and off the lounge chair, and onto her feet. She retrieved her bikini top and tied it back on. "The hair's gotta go. Cut it. Change its color—"

"God invented wigs for a reason."

"Come with me," Lauren extended her hand to Kenzi, "I know you've not even dipped your toe into the ocean before."

"Have so."

"Have not," Lauren smiled wide with her lips closed, delight crinkling at the corner of her eyes.

"The waiter will be back any time soon and I am starving."

"You can't swim, can you Kenz?"

Kenzi lowered her chin to her chest, reached to touch the back of her shoulders, and scratched an invisible itch.

"Not today," Lauren soothed, "but someday soon, I'm getting you into the big blue sea. I'm going to cool off in the surf for a bit." She bounded away a few steps in the sand before shouting, "And you better not eat any of my fries!"

Truth was, Kenzi had a healthy respect of the ocean and of deep water in general, enough for her to avoid both. It was also true that her mind was again on high alert, for that feeling of warning that she had noticed and dismissed in the days leading up to their Vex sighting, had returned. The tingling skin. The cold heart. The shadows that skimmed the periphery. If indeed Vex was close, this time she was not going to back down. She had been so deep in her thought of the slow, mangling grip she would squeeze upon Vex's heart that Kenzi hadn't realized that Lauren returned, dripping in seawater and renewed energy.

Kenzi eyed Lauren with concern, trying to interpret the meaning behind Lauren's current expression, which she could only describe as sneaky.

Lauren shook her head and squeezed strands of wet hair with her towel. "You know what we should do tonight?"

"That is the dirtiest smile I've ever seen on your lips, Dr. Lewis. And whatever it is you're thinking, no thanks. I am not into lady lovin'."

"Strip club," Lauren rubbed her smooth, tanned stomach with the towel before continuing down the front of her thighs, then the backs of her legs, all the way down her toned and shapely calves. Again, Bo entered her thoughts and how she hated that she still missed her touch. _Must do something about that soon. _

"What did you just say?"

Lauren finished drying off and wrapped the towel around her waist like a sarong. "Don't look at me like that, Kenzi. I'm a doctor not a prude. I want to see pretty girls, naked."

"Really, don't hold back Lauren. Tell me what you want, what you _really really _want."

"Will it make you uncomfortable? You don't have to go."

Kenzi sighed. "No, Lauren. We're Team Human. Where you go, I go. Just don't ask me to tip anything or anyone. My hands stay clean and yours you just keep to yourself…or some hot go-go señorita of your choosing."

"Here's the thing, Kenzi," Lauren sat up. "This life of ours…it's day by day, isn't it? I mean, seriously, the Fae can nab us anytime, anywhere—and what have we been doing? Living like cave people…"

"Cave what?"

"You know what I mean. Aren't you exhausted from being on guard all the time? Of holding back out of fear?"

"What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing…yet. Lauren smiled a little to herself. And that's my point. There's always going to be someone right behind us and we'll always be looking over our shoulder. We're hiding out. We're not dead, and I'm tired of feeling so—"

"Depressed? Isolated?"

"Sad!" Lauren threw up her arms. "It's time to indulge in pleasures of the Babylonian kind," she smirked. She lay back on the chair, rolling the towel up to use as a headrest. Kenzi noticed calm radiating from her flushed cheeks. It bewildered her but this was Team Human. They were free and unclaimed. Experience taught her that all luck, good or bad, eventually runs out. Maybe Lauren was right and even if she wasn't, there was bound to be alcohol. Lots and lots of it.

"Fun it is, Hotpants. Take me to Babylon."

* * *

The first time Bo uttered the charm she had been skeptical. Then, Kenzi bounced into the room itself and Bo's senses were assaulted by the very seemingly real and physical presence of her best friend. Bo heard the loud decibels of the stereo as Kenzi held the black hairbrush close to her mouth and sang into it like a microphone. She smelled the ginger soap Kenzi used, and when she danced within inches of her, Bo jumped back to avoid a collision. Bo called Kenzi's name and reached out to touch her; Kenzi stayed in motion, unaware that she had an audience. She shimmied with abandon, her glee palpable. A phone rang and Kenzi dropped the hairbrush to answer it, and the vision ended. Bo was back in the present, alone in the living room, and aware she'd been caught in the tide of a life-sized dream.

"Did you see that?!" her eyes widened with happy disbelief, as she shouted at Bruce. She ran to him and hugged him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Only you can see her," he held her close with gentle arms. It's part of the charm. Only the speaker may see the memory. If I had said it, you would have seen nothing."

"She was there, Bruce, literally jumping for joy. I want to do it again!"

Bo did not register Bruce's hasty good-bye after he returned her to the royal compound. She ran to her bedroom and concentrated on the softly worn piece of clothing that Lauren loved to wear to bed. She gazed upon it with the same focused energy she applied to Kenzi's hairbrush. She held Lauren's t-shirt close and said these words:

"_A heart aggrieved in search of solace begs_

_Ease my sorrow, a broken soul to mend_

_Return to view beloved friend and love _

_The shadows of a time gone by return_

_So I may sense you, hear you, once again." _

Then, Lauren appeared.

They lay side by side, facing each other in the four-poster bed of the clubhouse. The room glowed in a soft sepia and gentle, golden flickers of candlelight. Bo inhaled a hint of baby powder and lavender. Lauren's eyes glistened, full and sure of love, and brimming with hope. Bo marveled as Lauren stretched her body long like a cat, arching slightly, urging her t-shirt to rise above her hips and expose the landscape of Bo's devotion: the gentle curve of her back that Bo missed holding, the soft abdomen, the warm skin in need of kissing. She leaned in closer and heard her name tumble from Lauren's lips. "Bo," she whispered as she stroked her face, her voice as soothing as a hymn. Watching her eyes grow heavy with sleep, tucked so neatly by her side, Bo tumbled into the illusion dizzy with happiness. Seeing Lauren again unhinged the shackles of loss and regret that weighed on her for months. It was useless to try to stop the tears that rushed in on their own power. Bo reached to stroke Lauren's cheek only to have the unforgiving light of the present replace the shadows of memory. Her heart split open. Her fingers went from being tangled in the long blonde locks of her lover's hair to grasping at air. Her respite was temporary, just as Bruce warned. And then the hunger came. She chanted the charm several times into the night opening the door just enough for madness to enter.

* * *

**Please let know your thoughts. I hope it didn't suck. Too much. **


	6. Chapter 6

**AN:** _Sorry for the delay, again. Life can be quite hectic. So I had to stop obsessing over getting this right and just get it written. My intention was to make this longer but I guess, we're just going to have to be in for another chapter. Also, I'm going to be off living life for a tick and won't be updating too soon. I'm still here for the fun and practice and I do hope you enjoy the next chapter in this adventure. A special thank you to Kravn for giving me a wonderful little prompt. As always, thank you thank you thank you for the reviews, the ideas, and the follows. If you are so inclined, please leave a thought or two or more. Enjoy! PS: any typos, are mine. I kind of whipped through this without the usual meticulous editor's comb. Be kind. And off we go! Vamanos!_

* * *

The club was named, aptly, _Mascara, _after the black half leather masks the dancers wore as part of their undress. To reach the entrance, Kenzi and Lauren turned into a very slender alley, more of a seam really, that lived in the shadow of a turn-of-the-century building enlaced with stone, curlicue sculptures of muscular he-gods and she-gods and cherubs adorned by carefully draped ribbons that covered just enough of their figures to convey strength and modesty with droplets of temptation, much like the barely-clad girls inside the club. Lauren and Kenzi opted for table service, which afforded them an uninterrupted view of the main stage and two mini-platforms, one on the east and the other in the west. Music pumped overhead. Taut and rounded bodies slithered between tables and Lauren gorged her eyes on the swelling female figures, sensing her own arousal but wishing to take her time and enjoy the parade. This was a welcome show of the burlesque, a dark never-ending circus of the bump and grind, where one could sink into a wasteland of pleasure a few hundred duckets a pop. In front, a leggy thing in a leather bra and boy shorts contorted on a chrome pole, sliding and twisting and rising, exposing flesh and creativity in rhythm to the drumming music; and to the east and west, on the two side stages that sat closer to the floor, smooth bottomed courtesans curled and opened themselves, yearning, teasing.

Lauren sat back in their booth, arms spread out like wings on the backside of the banquette. A very leggy and ample-bottomed pony gyrated on her lap, her palms on Lauren's shoulder for leverage. She was in the midst of waxing Lauren's entire front side with her torso. Lauren moaned and smiled, an urging for the woman to continue her ministrations. "Just like that," she ordered and peered into eyes most definitely blue. "There."

Kenzi moaned, too, taking a big bite of the fried fritter she had in her hand. "This is possibly the most delicious thing I've put in my mouth. What are these?"

"_Bacalao."_ Lauren focused her hips on meeting the ass of the girl squirming on her lap. "Salted cod. A local delicacy."

"Deep fried creamy goodness, come to mama." She took another big bite, talking with her mouth full. "Can we order more?"

"Uh-huh." Lauren nipped at the cleavage being offered to her, her hands still planted firmly on the back of the banquette.

"Yay, make it rain Hotpants!" Kenzi licked random crumbs from her fingers and reached for the bottle on ice. The hostess assigned to take care of them stopped her arm. The hostess, also in leather shorts and a mask, swirled soda and vodka over ice and handed it to Kenzi.

"You know, it's a weird thing to say, maybe, but I could get used to this."

"How so?" The song ended. Lauren dropped a few bills into the clear, handled box all the dancers carried with them, and the girl hopped off her lap and back onto the floor. Her lap now empty, she focused on Kenzi.

"Good food and top shelf booze. A personal bartender for me. Non-bookish things for you," Kenzi's eyes shined as they roamed the room, "You cool it on dragging me to see old bones and paintings. Feels like a win win."

Lauren dropped her chin, smiling. She approached their situation like an anthropologist observing animals in the wild only this time, she did more than catalog her findings—she joined the herd. Lauren dipped her nose into the watering hole and gladly, licking and savoring every drop.

"Enough naked for you?" Kenzi asked.

"Mmm."

"You know that everyone in here looks a little…"

"Eager?"

Kenzi popped a fat green olive into her mouth and smacked her lips in response to its saltiness. "I was going to say familiar."

Lauren felt no need for debate. She knew what she was there for. To pin the label of _familiar_ meant to acknowledge the presence of a value or a meaning and the last thing that appealed to her, outside of Kenzi, were attachments of any kind. She told herself that definitions were like fences, separating here from there, then and now—she longed for a fluid life, to be like water and to spread and ebb on its own power, to disappear even, into droplets of nothing if it came to that.

Lauren eyed a tiny and toned girl and smiled at her to come over. As she neared, Lauren leaned into her ear and spoke a few words in Spanish. The girl nodded and within seconds topped Kenzi's lap.

"Whoa. What the _what what?"_ Kenzi lurched backwards, sandwiched between the writhing girl and the banquette.

Lauren was on the verge of hysterics. "Every day's a new day, Kenzi. You can now check exotic dancer off your bucket list."

"That was never on my bucket list."

The table hostess refilled Lauren's glass with bourbon over ice. "Go with it," Lauren raised her glass to her and sipped.

Kenzi narrowed her eyes and roundly had them poked by a perfectly symmetrical pair of breasts. Lauren laughed at the stunned expression on her friend's face, which the dancer seemed to ignore and persisted in her seduction. Kenzi stiffened and gasped when the girl in the mask nuzzled into the curve of her neck. Kenzi opened her eyes to their widest and turned to Lauren. "Really? This?"

"You're right, this is soooo good," Lauren popped a fritter into her mouth, smirking.

The dancer moved in tighter and lifted Kenzi's hands from the back of the banquette and placed them, palms flat on her chest, exaggerating a smile laced with pleasure. Kenzi rubbed and squeezed gently. "Uh," the girl moaned.

Kenzi moved her hands to the flat of the dancer's back, surrendering, and like Lauren, fell in with the other beasts and allowed the girl full access to her body, allowing her head to relax against the banquette. The herd closed in. She shrugged, "We're here. What are ya' gonna do?"

Lauren nodded and the song ended. The girl took her money and hopped off Kenzi's lap without elaboration.

"Happy now? I tried your flavor," Kenzi snorted.

"You're a good sport, Kenz."

"You know I'm gonna get you back."

"Perfect, and when you do remember that I have a preference for…" a buxom gal drifted by the table catching Lauren's eyes, "…big circus tents."

"Oh God," Kenzi groaned. "I gotta go to the little girls room."

* * *

Kenzi was still away when a tall and shapely woman floated beside her, near enough for Lauren's mouth to fill with the taste of berries. Even with the black mask, Lauren could make out brown eyes alive with laughter, pale smooth cheeks and beneath them, lips of pink on the verge of a pout or a kiss, it didn't matter which, Lauren just wanted to melt within them. The thick waves of dark hair shone even in the ghostly light, reaching just below her shoulders, a lovely curtain to a slender neck.

In heavily accented English, the beauty asked, "You are the _doctora?"_

"_Depende,"_ Lauren pulled away slightly, _"Eres la enfermera?"_

"_Si tu quieres,"_ she pulsed with warmth, reached for Lauren, and tangled her fingertips into blonde hair. She leaned into her ear, "_Soy un regalo._"

"A gift? From whom?" Lauren tilted her head back, never breaking eye contact.

The girl grazed her lips against Lauren's jawline. "Your friend with the _dark hairs."_

"Aha." _Kenzi. Payback. She knows my type. _

She was meant to be beautiful, in the way that love in the night is meant to be beautiful: a little dark, wrapped in a coat of secrets, eyes moist and inviting – most of all, ardent and fleeting. Kenzi understood at last, Lauren thought, and this gift—payback, whatever she wanted to call it, arrived as a symbol of their solidarity in forging ahead, spilling like water come what may. They breached the final bank together and this woman sealed the deal.

The woman unfolded her body and stood. Stepping backwards, her eyes locked onto Lauren's and with an extended arm she offered herself. _Venga._ "Come," she said, pulling her towards the private rooms upstairs.

They were in a private cubby with a door, the size of a small bedroom, and it was lit, barely, by strings of tiny white lights trimming the ceiling. The woman clicked the door shut and slowly advanced toward Lauren. Without ceremony the shapely woman eased Lauren onto the couch and straddled her. Her body set a languid pace and she regarded Lauren as if she were a longtime lover, savoring long caresses, inhaling the heat of her breath and with every touch encouraged Lauren to receive her. Lauren shivered as the cold leather of the woman's mask brushed against her cheek, a cheek she turned away slightly to avoid the woman's lips.

"This woman is lucky, your great love." She spoke softly to Lauren, her lips grazing against her ear lobes.

"Lucky, yes…but she never was, or will be, mine." She pushed back to look at the woman hovering above her. "That's a strange thing to say to someone you just met."

_"Los pequeños detalles." _The girl's touch radiated tenderness and care, and it seemed as if by looking at her she could sense the reasons behind Lauren's reticence. She held little distance between them and grazed two fingers along Lauren's lips. "You will not let me kiss you."

More was allowed in these private rooms than on the main floor, and Kenzi must've known that when she paid for this girl. Downstairs, except for the stage performers, the clothes stayed on. It was at the discretion of every girl how much her customers were allowed to touch. If things got out of hand, the meat in the suit took care of it. However, female customers usually had a little more play in that area than their male counterparts and Lauren thoroughly enjoyed her female privilege. Only a few moments ago Lauren had imagined stripping the girl bare but when it came down to it, the girl's unexpected empathy altered the course of her desires.

"I'm sorry," Lauren dropped her chin.

"Don't be." The seductress held Lauren in place with a squeeze of her thighs. Arching back, the girl raised her arms and, reaching behind her head, loosened the strings of her mask. Without taking her eyes from Lauren, she reached again to undo her bra exposing a pair of dark and erect nipples begging for attention. Love in the night. Memories be damned. To die a thousand deaths, let it be done, right here. In this moment, she was the moon in its flight, translucent, and for Lauren, a heady mixture of eroticism and kindness.

"You're beautiful," Lauren managed to breathe, her arousal gaining steam between her thighs.

"Is that your eyes or your desire talking?"

Lauren allowed herself to touch the woman's cheek. "Does it matter?"

The woman brought her lips close to Lauren's and paused as if asking permission to enter. Lauren leaned into the kiss and allowed their lips to brush. Her hips moved slowly again, rhythmically, and in time with the hum of her kisses, the flick of her tongue, and the long, even breaths they shared. She nibbled Lauren's neckline, allowing her mouth to take the slow journey upward on the curve of her neck and then to explore the profile of her jaw with the tip of her tongue. She rested her cheek on Lauren's and paused to catch her breath. Softly, she asked, "This woman, you would like to make love to her?"

Lauren closed her eyes and nodded without separating her cheek from the woman's.

"Then think of her," she felt for Lauren's hands and wrapped them around her waist, "as you fuck me." The woman then, gently, cupped Lauren's face with her hands and waited with an expression that Lauren interpreted as a mix of appreciation and acknowledgement that there had been love in the woman's eyes once, once upon a time—and in this moment of solidarity, yes, a yearning for more.

Lauren felt tightness in her chest and whatever resistance harbored in her heart was sliced open. She fought hard but the tears came just the same. The girl kissed the tears from Lauren's eyes cooing words of comfort and encouragement. She moved against her with more force, urging Lauren to give in, give more, to yield.

"Yes," Lauren whimpered and grasped at the woman's hips. _There._

* * *

The realism of the memory charm surprised Bo as she stood in the shower, turning up the water to a temperature that made her skin flush pink. It wasn't just the water she felt against the back of her neck but Lauren's very breath, the softness of her lips and then, yes, then, the pressure and friction of Lauren's whole body against her back, riding her, pushing. Bo palmed her hands against the shower tiles to steady her as she received the thrusts of her lover. She sensed the secret language of their bodies returning like the lyrics of a familiar love song: _I crave you, I miss you. There._

_There_, she heard again Lauren's passion uttered in a low, secretive tone; locks of Lauren's hair brushed against her shoulder and tickled her skin. These words exchanged, surely Bo could not have imagined that, words that fondled the heart, made limbs tremble, and their voices cry, cry in rapture. Out of instinct or perhaps habit, Bo reached behind to grasp at Lauren's hips to force them closer. Another tiny death, her heart shattered to find the space there impossibly empty. The heat that consumed her? Hot water once more. The only weight she experienced was the depth of her loneliness and then, while the hot water continued to rain against her flesh, Bo realized she hadn't uttered the charm at all. What she had intended to be a cry of frustration came out as a labored sob, as if the act of feeling anything at all was the greatest burden she'd ever known.

* * *

Lauren returned to the table at _Mascara_ feeling smug, spent, quenched. "I'm ready," she said to Kenzi who had finished the last bit of her cocktail. Kenzi returned the smile. It was piercing daylight when they emerged from the club, cloudless and windless, and they both squinted as their eyes adjusted to the brightness. Without saying a word, their steps found a shared rhythm as they strolled the wide boulevard that wound past the designer shops, onto the chaos of Las Ramblas, and finally spilling into the dark labyrinth of the Bari Gothic and their flat with the view of the Barceloneta and the ships in port.

They hardly spoke as they walked shoulder-to-shoulder, letting the pleasantness of the weather and their mid-day intoxication float them apace.

Lauren grinned to herself. The lingering taste of salt and desire made her thirsty. "That was some present."

"Present?"

"I'm surprised you're not begging for details," Lauren elbowed Kenzi.

"Of your slap and tickle?" Kenzi laughed. "I've heard you, remember." In an instant, their mirth was interrupted by a second of memory, Bo's memory, and how even the slightest sound carried through the clubhouse. The clubhouse was definitely not the place to harbor secrets. "So how was it?"

"Pretty. She was pretty. Well, you know that, you picked her out."

"Actually, Lauren, I didn't."

Their steps slowed as their comprehension quickened. Lauren ran the scenario through her mind apace, trying to click through every detail of her encounter. She called me _doctor_. "She knew I was in love with a woman." She posed it more as a question.

"And you didn't find _that_ odd – and by the way, how could that possibly come up as a topic of conversation during…_y'know."_

"Somethings you can tell and besides I thought you sent her to me!"

Kenzi and Lauren suddenly wanted to get off the street and rushed to enter their apartment building. They began the ascent up a steep and narrow stairwell to their flat on the fifth floor. Their breathing became heavy and labored by the third landing.

"You're sure in the throes of _hoedom_ you didn't say anything?" Kenzi put her hand to Lauren's elbow to stop her from continuing upwards, and maybe a little to help her catch up a few steps.

"No, it wasn't like that, Kenzi …"

They began the climb again, slowly this time. Lauren heard the soles of Kenzi's heavy boots hitting each step with a thud.

"Then what?" Kenzi wheezed.

"She was pretty in _that way._ And she might have said my name…I figured it for payback, by you."

They were at their landing. "You mean she looked like Bo."

"Enough, yeah. And she said she was a gift."

"From?"

"The friend with the _dark hairs." _The woman's accent and mispronunciation stood clear in Laurens' memory and jogged a sudden sense of alarm in both she and Kenzi once the words were spoken aloud. Kenzi reached for the dagger tucked into the back waistband of her pants. Lauren shoved Kenzi behind her on the tiny landing, hoping she wouldn't send her tumbling down the stairs. The sheen of sweat they earned up the stairwell turned them both cold. The door of their flat swung open with a flourish.

"Fuck me!" Kenzi growled, thrusting her dagger in the air.

"You!" Lauren said matter-of-fact.

The eyes of the dark-haired man in the doorway gleamed with mischief. He opened his arms waiting for an embrace. "What? Is that any way to greet your old Uncle Vex?"

* * *

**Well? Thoughts? Had to rush through this one. Thanks for reading. **


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I am truly, truly going out on a limb here. I somewhat wrote this in haste and with guilt, guilt over taking so long to get to this update. Once again, I can't tell you when I'll be able to update again. In the spirit of striking while it's hot (or is it get while it's hot?), anyway, it's hot off the presses. A rough draft of an even rougher idea. Be kind. **

**And hey - just in case we forget, Lost Girl and it's characters belong to its creators, producers, and ShowCase. I'm just here for the fun, the practice, and all the pretty dresses.**

**Thanks to Kravn for your faith and to you, kind readers, for the follows, reviews, and favorites. Now, everyone: get out your passports and chewing gum because we're going on a trip. Hope it's not too bumpy. **

* * *

Only by sheer will did Lauren buttress herself against Kenzi's body, blocking her from charging up the few steps and across the small landing that separated her dagger from the Mesmer's throat. They were rams locking horns, and this small space, their alpine battlefield. Lauren gripped Kenzi's shoulders and struggled to get Kenzi to stand down. "Please," Lauren pleaded, "just let me handle this."

Kenzi continued to surge toward the front door almost toppling Lauren over. Her eyes moistened with anger and her voice rasped with rage. "He needs to bleed."

"Kenzi, Kenzi!" Lauren tightened her grip to shift Kenzi's focus away from the Mesmer. Kenzi relented and touched her forehead against Lauren's shoulders—perhaps to regain her balance, catch her breath, or, as they might possibly argue in years to come, to tame the storm threatening to burst from the back of her throat. Lauren spoke in a low voice for Kenzi and Kenzi alone to hear, "God knows I want to rip his throat out—but that could get one or both of us killed. You're all I have left. _We're_ all we have. Please." Her voice was firm and caring. She watched Kenzi's energy recede and her dagger return to the holster hidden at the back of her pants. "Thank you," Lauren whispered and turned back to Vex.

Vex bit into an apple he'd been holding, smiled, genuflected with a flourish with his arms wide open, then stepped aside to let them enter.

* * *

The trio encircled each other within the cramped Serengeti of their living room. Vex found the chill of suspicion and unease entertaining, unsurprising, and it didn't take long for their obvious enmity towards him to become tedious. All pleasantries aside, there was business to attend to. On his third or fourth pass around the furniture he plopped down onto the couch and relaxed deep into the cushions of their sofa. Kenzi kicked at his legs just as he was about to perch the scuffed heels of his boots on the pirate's chest that doubled as a coffee table. Kenzi paced the open living room, restless and feral.

"No need for you to get comfortable. You're not staying long." Kenzi rooted herself a few feet away from him, glaring. He eyed her intently: she exuded winter, a knobby, leafless, irritable tree whose exposed joints clawed toward Vex in anticipation of any provocation—a word, a twitch, an arrhythmic beat of his heart—anything to justify a mad swing of her limbs to mash his self-satisfied face.

"Yeah," he smirked. "Missed you, too."

She crossed her arms and shrugged, unmoved.

Lauren sat across from him. "What do you want?"

"He dies. That's what _I_ want." Kenzi's eyes shone luminous, loathing, unflinching as a full moon.

"Death, death is so _boring_." Vex sighed and offered a silky response. "I didn't come here to upset your apple cart, darlings. I saw you in London and then you disappeared before we had a chance to even have a proper tea…and you two really missed a performance, might I add, scooting out before the big reveal in the final act. I was brilliant…I was nominated for an Olivier!"

"Go on," Lauren tapped the tip of her tongue against the back of her teeth, her anger visible in the corners of her eyes.

Vex laced his fingers together on his lap, composing himself as a penitent might seconds before entering a confessional. "There isn't a day goes by when I don't think about what I've done. There are laws and I gave my blood oath but now my debt has been paid."

"Massive fail. Didn't hear the word _sorry_ in any of that. I'm done," Kenzi said quickly, turning away and storming toward the kitchen.

"Wait!" Vex stood and thrust his arm in her direction forcing Kenzi to freeze mid-step, spin, and face him.

"Stop it!" Lauren shouted, bolting towards him.

Kenzi flailed under his power. "You're a shit hole in need of a deeper shit hole."

Vex controlled Kenzi like a marionette and like a puppeteer, he pulled her across the living room and lowered her to sit on the side chair beside the sofa, nearer to him. Invisible straps forced and trapped her there. Misery etched deeply across the Mesmer's face as he loosened his hold on her. Whatever wickedness may have brought Vex to their door kept Lauren and Kenzi on high alert, even as the Mesmer's emotions shifted back and forth between depraved and depressed.

"Massimo is dead." He forced Kenzi to look directly at him before slowly releasing his hold over her. "He suffered greatly, if that helps. And I _am_ sorry, Kenzi."

Kenzi absorbed his sadness and, with a sympathetic expression, pushed herself up from the side chair and approached him, hesitation in her steps. Leaning forward as if to offer comfort, she surprised Vex and slugged his jaw cold and hard with her fist, his head snapping sideways under the force of the punch. Peering up at her while rubbing the reddening spot, he didn't retaliate.

Vex sneered, "Once again with feeling, why don't you."

"God that felt good," Kenzi brushed past Lauren and stood behind her.

"Now that we got that out of the way, let me guess why you're really here."

"Not interested in playing twenty questions so I'll save you the trouble…it's Tamsin, all right?" Vex flexed his jaw side to side.

"What?" Kenzi and Lauren answered in tandem.

"She misses her _mom_. A bit crazy and pathetic to think of _you_ that way, but there it is." He nodded at Kenzi.

_Oh,_ Lauren's mind raced. _So it wasn't Bo. She's with Rainer, why would she want either of us back._ Disillusioned once again, Lauren struggled to regain some apathy, without it she might succumb to feelings of nostalgia, waxing sentimental, or worse—self-pity. _Of course Tamsin would want Kenzi back. We weren't friends but they are. _The notion that no one was looking for her, even a Mesmer with something to gain, rang as clear as a church bell in the night, unequivocal in its tolling that Lauren was now, as she had always been with the Fae, on her own. She had disappeared and no one cared.

"Tamsin, huh. She sent _you_ to find _me_." Kenzi jammed her hands onto her hips, elbows wide.

"Unusual choice," Lauren added.

"It's complicated," Vex continued.

"Everything about you Fae is complicated," Kenzi huffed.

"Let me take you back."

"Oh hell, no." Kenzi chafed. "We're not going anywhere with _you._"

"Fine, I'll stay."

Kenzi shifted her weight from one boot to the other. "What about _hell no_ is unclear to you?"

Lauren eyed the ceiling. "What's the going price for a human doctor, Vex."

"Stop right there. I'm not a bounty hunter, not that it's beneath me. I've done worse for money. But it's not what you think, trust me," he mumbled.

Kenzi laughed. "What was that? Speak up. So you're doing this from the bottom of your bottomless heart?"

"Sarcasm, _nice._ Haven't you met your quota for today? If you'd just give me a chance to explain..."

Kenzi dismissed him. "Yeah, right. Like there isn't a thing you can say that doesn't have _'I'm a liar'_ written all over it, under it, through it. I'd be able to smell the stink of your lies in the middle of a fish market." She strode across the living room and opened the front door.

"Massimo was my last link to Evony," Vex took the jibe. Then, looking at Lauren. "The Morrigan's out of the picture too, but you knew that already didn't you, darling?"

"Don't call me that," she glared.

Vex could almost taste the bitterness as the words dripped from Lauren's lips.

"You still haven't said what you want with us." Lauren pointed at the space between herself and Kenzi.

"Friendship? Forgiveness? A port in a storm?" Vex peered at her sideways.

"I can't think of one reason to say yes to any of that." Lauren yanked on Vex's collar to get him to his feet, tugging him towards the door.

"Look at me!" he threw his hands up and waved them a bit. "Think of it. We can make the world our pearl! The Three Amigos?" He shrugged off Lauren's hold on him as they neared the door.

"No, _amigo."_ Kenzi pushed the door open even wider, and shoved him under the doorway. Vex gripped the doorjamb and dug in.

"C'mon," he grinned, "we were a great team, once. A few laughs we had, yeah?"

"You forget one thing…" Lauren stepped next to Kenzi.

Kenzi nodded at her friend. "We don't trust you. And we never will. _Ever."_

Vex hopped back into the flat with ease just missing a grab by Kenzi. "You gravely misunderstand me." He reentered the living space, encircling the room again. This time he took a few seconds to survey the flat and its potential as a den, a resting place, his new Jerusalem and a chance to set his conscience right—_a conscience,_ he chided himself, _when did that happen?_ He took notice of the utter absence of any personal effects that might translate into home décor: no artwork, personal photographs—the furniture sat discolored and mismatched, lonely. This was a place that could be abandoned with ease. His eyes searched for something personal and he needed to find it before he was ejected, which, based on the angry whispering happening behind him, was seconds away. Then, he saw it. He pretended to check for dust with the point of his index finger then, quickly, Vex swiped a carelessly tossed scarf sitting on a side table and stuffed it into his sleeve. He spied a set of keys and at the last minute decided not to take them. Just in time. The whispering stopped and he heard the low growl of an angry Kenzi at his neck.

"You know what? I think we're done here."

Vex spun towards her and took slow steps back to the threshold of the flat, coming within inches of her body. "It's not what you're thinking, love," he insisted.

She bared her teeth, snapping, "Don't you touch me, _ever."_

Vex stepped into the landing but not before Lauren grasped his elbow.

"What are you doing?! This rat needs to leave!" Kenzi didn't expect this.

Lauren mouthed to Kenzi, "_I said to trust me."_ Turning to Vex, "I want to know why you're really here."

Vex stood still, glanced at Kenzi then back at Lauren.

"Answer me, Vex." Lauren's impatience punctured the silence.

"Invite me for brunch and I'll tell you the whole sordid tale, all right? Every little smidgen," he smiled. "Okay, _pigeon?_"

Kenzi narrowed her eyes at Lauren before storming out of the living room. They watched her go. Vex smirked, "Lover's quarrel?"

Lauren shoved Vex not-so-gently past the landing onto the top steps. "Don't mistake any of what I'm about to say to you as friendship…but if you hurt Kenzi another inch, so help me I will find a way to kill you. If I can take down the Morrigan, you'll be a cake walk."

The coldness in her voice humbled him immediately, and Vex nodded.

Lauren continued. "Good. Tomorrow. Two o'clock. No one wakes for breakfast around here. So do not show up a second sooner or later." Without waiting for an answer, she slammed it with such force she half expected the door to fall off its hinges.

* * *

Kenzi and Lauren shared the same first impressions of their flat in Barcelona: it was a few fleas and a couple of threads shy of being a dump. The building tilted at a slight angle on an alley within the shadow of another shadow, forgotten by time, maybe, but alive and well and haunted by dreams. This became evident when Kenzi and Lauren discovered a yellowing door at the rear of the galley kitchen, a doorway that led, literally, to the stars. Up a creaky stairwell and through a second door, it opened to a private terrace with a cushioned ledge that wrapped around the square perimeter of the roof. Kenzi and Lauren had found a rusty bistro table on the street and hauled it up the five flights plus the one more, just to get it up here. When not touring the city by foot, they often rushed back in spite of any fatigue just to sit in their private aerie and allow time to pass them by as the streets of Barcelona rumbled and sang and pulsed below. They did not speak of the future or the past. They simply marveled at the quiet and how, when one squinted rightly, the twinkling lights of the ships anchored in the harbor shimmered against the rippling sea and shone like constellations to rival the ones floating against the velvet sky above. It had been on this very roof that Kenzi introduced Lauren to dime store romance novels (which became an obsession for Lauren and her mission to find in English when they strolled the book stalls of _Els Encants_) and the same roof where Kenzi—to Lauren's surprise—won their inaugural backgammon tournament and enabled Kenzi to reclaim the _good mattress,_ the one without the sagging middle and the angry springs.

Of course Kenzi would be up here after Vex left. Lauren did not follow unarmed; she brought with her a pair of shot glasses adorned with the FCB football logo and a bottle of tequila.

Kenzi lay flat on the cushions and heard Lauren step onto the roof. She didn't bother getting up or looking at her. She heard the clink of glasses and a bottle placed on the table.

"I'm not liking you right now. Don't bother buttering me up with alcohol." Kenzi turned her head and spied the label on the bottle, and glared upside down at Lauren, who was doing her best to appear contrite. It was the good stuff. Kenzi returned to her original position and rested her forearm over her eyes. "Okay, butter me up with alcohol."

Lauren poured and nudged Kenzi with the shot glass.

"You know what," Kenzi sat up, "I seem to remember that the last time I listened to someone say _trust me_ I was force fed a guilt sandwich with _shit au jus._ Massimo not only got away but also got away with murder…thanks to Vex the douche bag. Lauren, that thing let him get away and now, you, after all this—you just invite him back for brunch!" She swallowed the tequila in one gulp, slammed the glass in demand of a second, which Lauren obliged. The second shot followed the first down her throat in record time. Kenzi closed her eyes and wheezed a short, angry sigh.

Lauren winced after downing her first. "Kenzi, I had to find out what he was up to…and to buy us some time!" She sensed Kenzi's steam was not abating even after the two shots, so she loaded up a third in the hope it would tamp down her anger. In a single motion, not anything new for Lauren to see but always a marvel to witness, Kenzi swiped the shot glass with the grace of a cat toying with its food, and in a single motion brought it to her lips, vacuumed the amber liquid, and returned the glass to the table with hardly a sound.

Lauren poured herself a second shot and waited for the courage, like the heat of the tequila, to rise in her chest. "I know of no one else that I trust with my life more than you." Lauren was suddenly self-aware and looked everywhere but at Kenzi. "I never told you what it was like to be a slave, have I?"

Kenzi sat up with her hands on the cushions and her knees pulled tightly together. She shook her head.

"It was flawless," Lauren contemplated.

"Huh, not a word that I associate with slavery."

"The Fae had no feelings for me whatsoever. In that, they were flawless and pure. They never felt pangs of guilt or remorse when it came to my life. They never ran hot or cold. Their estimation of me didn't change whether I was healthy or covered in welts."

"That actually happened?"

"More often than you think, Kenzi."

Lauren's honesty sent a chill through Kenzi, and she filled their glasses to the brim. Kenzi swallowed hard. "Lauren, our friends are Fae. Did they know about this?"

Lauren nodded. "It's their way. Has been since time was invented. Nothing about my life as a slave was a secret."

Kenzi pictured the worst and multiplied that image by the largest number she could imagine, and still she sensed that the depth of whatever pain Lauren must have experienced could not be sufficiently articulated by any equation conjured by anyone Fae or human. She read the sorrow on Lauren's face and how, just below the surface, she must constantly relive the worst of her slavery, Lauren's gaze wandering beyond the horizon and concentrating on the tendrils of painful memory, long extended, and able still to weaken the heart of one of the strongest person's Kenzi ever had the privilege of knowing. Her urge was to say _I'm sorry_ or to offer a consoling touch but Kenzi felt that such a gesture would come across as trite or pandering, especially in the middle of an argument; so she waited for Lauren to come back from wherever her mind had taken her.

"And yet, the funny thing Kenzi, I couldn't bring myself to hate the Fae even though I probably had every right," Lauren continued. "They ruined my life…but there was always somehow just one, just one…" Her voice trailed before picking up again, "…one Fae that would see me and throw me off with a kindness that I, a human slave, could never repay." She peeked her brown eyes at Kenzi's wild blue orbs, and smiled. "It would take so little. I'm a sap," she seemed to apologize.

"No, Lauren, you're human." It was then that Kenzi reached for Lauren's hand and held it.

"And that's why I know, I mean, I _really_ know Kenzi that you have choices. Pick revenge and what will it get you or us?" Lauren's energy brightened. The squall had passed.

"A feel good ending?"

Lauren squeezed Kenzi's hand and then poured more shots, which they downed as quickly as the earlier ones.

"Kenzi, Vex once came between Bo and I." They both winced at the sound of her name said aloud. "And it stopped us for a long time from…" Her voice trailed and just as quickly, she regained it. "I don't want Vex to come between you and I, our friendship."

Kenzi lowered her eyes, a thief caught with a bag full of jewels mid-heist and without an alibi. Her friend's honesty made her feel ashamed and uneasy.

"Kenzi look at me, please," Lauren whispered. Then, when at last, Kenzi braced herself and raised her eyes, Lauren beamed with admiration. "You know what Vex can do…we both do. But I also know what _you_ are made of and you are more capable than any one I've ever met, human or Fae. If you—if we—choose revenge, it will only destroy us in the end. And," she smiled, "I'm not ready for this story to be over."

"Lauren, after all they've done to you, how can you say that? How can you be so sure?"

As she contemplated her answer, Lauren stood and walked the few paces to the edge of the roof, the side that gave way to the horizon of the Barceloneta and the bay crowded with a dozen cruise ships and then, as if on cue, a steamer's horn bellowed from the port reaching across their rooftops and rolling upward toward the hills.

Turning, she found her answer. "I don't know, Kenzi. Maybe it's my one weakness, optimism. I rely on science to give me answers and I can think of no science or research that can fully explain why I cannot hate them. I hate the things they did to me but I cannot bring myself to hate _them."_

"Not once? You've never hated ever in your life? "

"Okay, once. But that hate was reserved for myself and maybe one day I'll tell you about it." Lauren reminisced on her younger self, the one who had mistakenly murdered innocents through idealism and trust, the one whose sins she could never recover and for whom she would forever strive to repent. "I have no right to make choices for you, Kenz, but I hope you can find it in your heart to trust me."

Once again a horn yawned wide and long into the night. In a few hours it would be morning. The urgings of dawn never arrived late.

Lauren spun around the roof deck with her arms wide open. "This is the most alive I've felt in years, even with the Fae chasing us. I want you to live, _I_ want to live…to make my own choices. Set my own course. Listen to me," she advanced toward the sitting Kenzi, dropped to her knees, and planted her hands on Kenzi's lap, shaking her head, which was full of moths thanks to the tequila. "I don't know how Vex found us and I don't really care. We're still here and I'll be damned if I let him be the reason for us having to go back. If, or when, we go back it'll be because we want to…because _you_ want to. Now, you can make whatever choices you want, Kenzi, but I am hoping you'll still choose Team Human."

Lauren studied Kenzi's blue eyes, hoping but not knowing what her answer would be. She searched for empathy, tenderness, but instead regarded Kenzi's features as a valley of anxiety, void of mischief and mirth. What she saw was grave, as if Kenzi's fate rested on this one answer and fear or uncertainty held her back, from tripping over the edge of the roof and ruining whatever slim chance at happiness Kenzi might have left to her. Lauren's leg muscles strained beneath her weight and she moved to stand. Kenzi pulled her into a hug so quickly and abruptly that at first Lauren's arms dangled by her side before making their way around her friend.

"There's no other team for me," Kenzi assured her before pushing Lauren backwards onto her ass. "Fight's over. Now what's your plan?"

Lauren stood and brushed the dust off the seat of her pants. She held her hand out for Kenzi to take. Lauren guided her to the edge of the roof and draped her arm around Kenzi's shoulder. With her free hand she pointed toward the horizon.

"What'll it take to get onto one of those?"

Kenzi looked seaward and the small fleet of cruise ships in the harbor. Kenzi smiled at the challenge. "As stowaways or crew?"

* * *

When Vex realized that no one was going to open the door he reached for the doorknob of the flat and discovered it unlocked. Everything was in place and undisturbed including the keys he had stopped himself from stealing the day before. Immediately, he took out his mobile.

"I don't know where they could have gone. They were here last night, only a few hours ago!" He went from room to room, not expecting to see anyone and yet it agitated him all the more. "They're like the Incas, gone!" He stormed into the galley kitchen and palmed the side of the coffee maker. "Food is still warm. Maybe it's an alien abduction…What? Can't you bring her here?...then _make_ her believe you…I've been on this chase for you for months, get her fucking arse over…fine! Fine! Send the plane ticket to my hotel. And make it at least business class then, will you love?...No, no," Vex argued to the person on the other end. "I gave you my blood oath to find Kenzi not to bring her back…shut it, just shut it, Tamsin. I'm a mesmer not a magician so no, I can't just blink and have them-poof-reappear...the Queen? She's your nut job, not mine…by the way, I got a cherry for you. Bo's going to love this: _she's_ alive…who do you think? _Lauren!_..yeah, that one. The human doctor…yeah, I can prove it...and I've changed my mind. Fly me first class. Chow, love." Vex hung up and surveyed the room, realizing for the first time and in the raw daylight, just how cramped and weather beaten their flat was. He could see how humans could find it quaint or inviting. Squalor appealed to him when he had been a young man, the romance of Bohemia and all that drivel, but the thrill of suffering unnecessarily faded centuries ago. He flung himself on the couch and stretched his body to its fullest. He made an attempt to keep Kenzi and Lauren there and they had been the wiser. His part had been well played but why the remorse? This fidelity to human souls caught him off guard. After centuries of living, how could the happiness of another soul even begin to matter—but it did, enough for him to track down the not-so-helpless humans to this city by the sea. He laughed at himself. He envied their pluck and missed their friendship. He worried about the Queen and wondered, as he pulled Lauren's scarf from his pocket, if their scent would be enough to resurrect Bo's sanity. Vex heard the sounds of a ship leaving shore, rolled over on the couch, and closed his eyes to sleep.

* * *

Lauren had barely dropped her bags and just finished looping the top button of her white uniform when she heard the call for the sail away party. She had only a few minutes to get on deck. The door of her compartment burst open; no surprise, it was Kenzi. Without turning away from the mirror, she finished with the stubborn button and pulled her blonde hair into a tight and high ponytail.

"Really?" she directed Kenzi toward the passport and transit papers strewn on her desk. "And you get riled at me for being unimaginative."

"Sorry! I panicked. You said _quick_ and that's," she pointed at the papers, "quick. Quick style. Quick me up…I got us on the boat, didn't I?"

"Okay, stop. It's a ship not a boat." Lauren clipped on her name tag. _Scully_.

"You're still a doc, _Doc,_" Kenzi faked a Vaudevillian guffaw.

Lauren turned toward Kenzi, who was also in uniform, a decidedly non-seafaring uniform. Unlike Lauren, her uniform was simple, loose, and lacked officer's bars. A large black SLR camera hung from her neck. Lauren stepped closer and straightened Kenzi's name tag: _Mulder._ Lauren brushed Kenzi's long black hair with her fingers before resting her palms on Kenzi's shoulders. "You should let me cut this for you."

Kenzi smiled. "You're a surgeon not a stylist, no way."

"It's time to shove off," Lauren sighed.

"Aye, aye doctor."

They hurried down the passageway, climbing higher and higher until they reached topside and the gathering on the sun-drenched deck of the ship. The band was in full swing. Passengers in sun dresses and flowery aloha shirts skirted by, drinks in hand. A final blast from the ship's horn bellowed its good-bye. Lauren and Kenzi stood portside, watching the shore recede and the city-by-the-sea—that had sheltered them from their past and shielded them up until yesterday, from a wayward Mesmer—pull further and further from view until the only clear thing about Barcelona was the fading memory of it and the realization that not once during their entire encounter with Vex did either one of them ask him about Bo.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. Reviews and thoughts are welcome. **


	8. Chapter 8

**AN:** _An imperfect chapter that I hope takes us closer and closer to our favorite fugitives. I just needed to get this off both my conscience and my plate. As always, the characters of Lost Girl belong to the show's creators and ShowCase. Just hanging out with them for a tick. Thank you, too, for your follows, favorites, reviews, and insights. I don't think I could be any more appreciative. Or, maybe I can..._

_Apologies in advance that this isn't better but at least, it's moving ... oh well. I wanted to wait until I captured the next scene but hey - why postpone joy, or in this case, some Faery tale angst? May the ride be joyful. Now, let's go visiting!_

* * *

The royal apartments evoked the forgotten rooms from a Dickensian-like novel, ghostly, somewhat damp, and with a veil of desperation breeding from every surface. The bric-a-brac of Kenzi's and Lauren's abandoned lives overran the residence and created a strange debris-field of discarded personal and household items—single socks, cracked picture frames, lids missing pots, really anything Bruce could carry or tear off a wall—these things snaking and migrating within the paths Bo tread throughout her home. She learned to cast the memory charm on multiple items at once and carried conversations with the spectres of Kenzi or Lauren from one room to the next without pause. Eventually, as Bruce had warned, each item lost its ability to generate a vision but rather than get rid of it at its stopping point, Bo insisted that nothing be thrown away. Bo met every attempt to clean with a fit of hysteria and eyes blue with rage. She cocooned herself within a storm of filth except for the kitchen, which, Tamsin stood firm, be kept spotless. "You may sleep with rats for all I care," she griped, "but I sure as hell am not dining with them."

These transient phantoms soaked her heart and nibbled at her sanity with the tenacity and skill of gutter vermin, and there was little Tamsin and Bruce—who now lived in their own rooms within the royal residence—could do about it, except to try and conceal her addiction from an outside world moving further and further away from her grasp. Nearly a year passed since Kenzi had disappeared, and a little more than six months since Tamsin had acquired Vex's blood oath to find Bo's former sidekick in exchange for his freedom. The Elders viewed him as a traitor, an accessory to a crime, and a fugitive after Massimo stole the origins seed; but the newly appointed Chief Counsel Trick McCorrigan persuaded the Elders to show mercy, and to drop the charges.

"Either you're some smooth talker or you've got some weird, wicked Fae magic up your sleeves, Trickster," Tamsin managed a straight face when she asked him how he swayed the Elders.

"Or I'm just that good," Trick reassured her. "And since you and Bruce seem to be the only ones she'll allow close to her, send someone you can trust to find Kenzi. I fear that if this goes on much longer, we risk losing Bo's mind forever—and if anyone can get her to come back, it's her best friend."

Tamsin pondered the word _trust._ A word that experience had taught her not to put much stock into. _Coercion_ worked just fine and if she had to tell a little white lie to gain a certain Dark Mesmer's cooperation—as well as his blood oath, well then, it will be done. She had her reasons to get Kenzi back as well; she missed her. The spiral into misery that she witnessed from Bo left its mark on Tamsin, too, and she felt her own mind might be in danger if she were to lose not just one friend but also two.

* * *

"There are knickers on the floor, are you aware of that?" Vex pointed toward the trail of underthings in the main hall. "And what's this?" he bent over to retrieve a kewpie doll with one eye open, the other permanently shut before tossing it back over his shoulder. He entered the grand apartment stepping gingerly through Bo's obstacle course of junk.

Tamsin could see sheen of perspiration on his forehead. "Calm down!"

"It's disgusting in here," he made his way into the one clean room, the kitchen. "She's the Queen. Get a housekeeper!"

"And you keep your voice down," Tamsin poked him hard to the chest with her fist. She leaned in close for a second and sniffed. "You stink."

"You said come straight away, so I did. I was hoping to take a bath here but this place is vile," Vex's eyes were ablaze with disgust. Then he puffed out his chest like a peacock and strutted a few steps. "And I know_ vile_._"_

"Spare me the details of your sex life, Vex. Just tell me you found Kenzi."

Vex hopped onto the granite counter. "I did," he said plainly, admiring his cuticles.

"Vex," Tamsin rested on the opposite counter and crossed her arms. "You either spill what you know or I spill it to the Elders that a certain lecherous Mesmer is back in town. Your choice. I have my way with you, or they do. Which is it?" she fumed.

"I thought you said you'd guarantee my freedom!"

"_After_ you find Kenzi," she lied to him, knowing full well that Trick had already negotiated a full pardon for him, and that he was free to go.

Before Vex could argue back, the sound of heavy boots stomping down the hall claimed their attention, as did a high-pitched string of giggles that got louder as Bo came into view. Vex watched her intensely as she was clearly talking to someone visible only to her eyes, for Bo paid neither him nor Tamsin any mind.

Bo veered between them and headed for the fridge, throwing her head back as if she'd just been told the best fucking joke of her life. "And then what? Did you kick him where it counts?" Bo waited for an answer. She opened the refrigerator door and grabbed a bottle of orange juice before spinning around on her heels.

The sight of this Bo baffled Vex. He observed the sickly pallor of her skin and the once lively, intense eyes of brown now unfocused and lost to some unforgiving fog that not only stole their luminance but also made her blind to everything around her—even him, of all people, and he knew how much Bo hated him. A smile flickered briefly over her lips as she passed by him but it was not the smile of delight—but the grin of desperation and Vex finally understood Tamsin's urgency in wanting him to return as quickly as possible. Something harsh and terrible happened here and the sight of it petrified him. "If this is what it looks like to save the world, you can have it," he stammered.

Bo marched away from Vex and Tamsin conversing with her unseen conspirator, until she disappeared from view.

"What was that?" Vex brought his hands to his cheeks. "I mean—"

"You said you took something of hers, of Kenzi's or Lauren's?" Tamsin seemed unaffected by what clearly unnerved the usually cocky Mesmer. Vex locked eyes with hers but did not answer. She came closer and grabbed his lapels pulling him within inches of her own face, a face white with panic. "Did you bring it?"

Vex reached into his jacket, pulled a long and delicate pastel green and floral scarf from his pocket, and dangled it in front of Tamsin. She pushed back from Vex, grabbed the scarf, and without hesitation stormed in Bo's direction. "Aren't you going to say something?" he asked, confused, and running to keep up with her.

"Shut it," she called over her shoulder, "and just follow me."

* * *

"How dare you?" Bo screamed, bolting upright as Tamsin burst into her bedroom. Bruce was there, too, squeezed into an armchair too small to contain the giant. On instinct he jumped to his feet, having first to forcibly pop himself out of the chair that gripped his backside.

Tamsin strode towards Bruce and shoved the scarf in his face. "I need you to say the memory charm and tell me what you see."

Bruce hesitated. "It's not my place," he said bowing his head in shame.

"_You_ taught _her._ Now _you_ say it." She suspended her arm midair with the scarf at the end of it, forcing it at him. Bo watched them from the center of the bed, trembling, and clutching Kenzi's stuffed teddy bear.

Bo spoke to the teddy bear, "Tell her to get out." Then, turning to Bruce, with wide eyes, she screamed, "Get her out of here!"

Bruce froze, caught between not wanting to disobey his queen yet not wanting to incur Tamsin's foul temper either.

Tamsin narrowed her eyes. "Bruce, quickly. Hurry."

Something had awakened the Valkyrie's warrior spirit, Bruce could see this, and he reached for her. He took the fabric she held aloft and uttered the words, directing them upon the flowy material in his hands. He stepped back to allow room for the apparition to appear to him and only him as the speaker of the incantation. Tamsin and Vex could only take in the empty air. They inched back as Bruce began to twitch. A warm smile crept across his lips and his eyes turned watery. He brought a meaty knuckle to his mouth in disbelief. "It's her." When the vision ended he turned towards Bo with such a look of kindliness that it almost made one forget he had the brute strength to crush a man's life with his bare hands without ever an afterthought. He stepped toward the bed and sat beside her, the springs groaning under his weight. Bruce then slowly handed her the scarf as if it were an offering, holy, peaceful, perhaps the salve for the sickness that had taken over her mind; and in a voice as soft and gentle as a baby's breath, he leaned in closer, "My Queen. I will suffer as you suffer, rejoice as you rejoice. My fealty is yours until you release me." He took her hands and slipped the scarf between her palms. "The blame is mine for the curse these memories have wrought upon you…so please forgive my boldness, my Queen. Though I am undeserving, I must beg for your favor in granting me one request."

"Bruce," Bo tilted her head and put a light hand upon his shoulder. "The only thing you have cursed me with is happiness. Whatever it is you want, just ask and it's yours."

His wide chest heaved as he tightened his hold on her hands. "Your happiness is an illusion, my Queen."

"There are no illusions here," she cackled, then spoke to the teddy bear by her side, "Kenzi—straighten him out!"

"That's what I'm trying to say, my Queen," he took advantage of her return to madness, _"Kenzi _has something to say to you. Take this and say the words a final time," he looked at her hands, "and _never more_ after today. This is my humble request."

Bo appeared confused. "No, Bruce," she pushed it back to him. "What you ask is im-…"

Tamsin grew past impatient. "For God's sake, Bo! Listen to Bruce. There's a message from Kenzi."

"Say the words, my Queen," Bruce begged. "Say them for her…and let this be the last."

Her eyes darted between Bruce and Tamsin as they hoped silently between them that it was a flash of clarity they spied in her eyes, however fleeting. Bo sat back and said the familiar words only because it was Bruce who had begged her. Almost instantly after she finished the verse, the room of shadow and sorrows that Bo inhabited slowly disappeared from view to be replaced by the brightness of day. She did not recognize the narrow and uneven street that sloped downward and tilted slightly to the right. Unconsciously, and perhaps because of the summer's heat that made her clothing cling tightly and her skin sticky with sweat, Bo fanned herself as she tried to get her bearings.

Bruce, Tamsin, and Vex stood by, watching. Tamsin turned to Vex, "What is she seeing in there?"

"You're all nuttier than rabid hounds. What is she doing?"

"Shhh!" Bruce warned them both into silence.

* * *

Bo's focus landed on a shop on the corner of an alley, a shop with a wall of tiny windowpanes and a wooden door cracked and beaten by wind and time. She heard a tiny bell jingle and, as it opened, Bo froze as a slender young woman emerged, costumed as a debutante abroad, draped in a closefitting sleeveless floral dress, her sleek dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Bo would not have recognized her until the young woman's ice-blue eyes blinked skyward for a few seconds before being covered by a pair of oversized sunglasses. "Kenzi," Bo cried out for her friend and felt a rush of blood pumping into her chest. Kenzi stood there, waiting. Bo had been staring so intently that she hadn't noticed the still open shop door, or the slender woman with the golden hair stepping forward into the sunlight. This apparition was familiar, and she was beautiful. The fine hair on Bo's arms whisked to attention and her heart twisted with nervousness. _Lauren._ Bo's eyes lingered over her every detail: Lauren's graceful neck awaiting Bo's lips; the soft skin beaming and kissed by the sun; and sweet brown eyes that crinkled whenever she smiled and dispossessed Bo of every urgency except one, to be with her immediately and always. _Lauren,_ the timid ember that had been her broken heart pulsed with hope and pierced the first tiny pinprick of sanity into Bo's mind. She observed the unusual physical closeness between them as Kenzi handed Lauren a small gift bag. "I saw you looking at it," Kenzi beamed. "Happy Birthday."

"How did you know? Surprise brightened Lauren's cheeks.

"That it was your birthday? Wasn't _really_ sure, given all the fake IDs we've had to go through…so I guessed," she laughed. "And even if it really isn't today, aren't birthdays nice?"

Bo didn't understand what was playing out before her and yet she sensed their intimacy, not only unprecedented but mysterious. This was impossible, implausible on several levels and Bo reached for the mattress beneath her as she felt her equilibrium slipping. Their exchange continued.

"Yes, Mouse, birthdays _are _nice." Lauren pressed her lips together and smiled, inhaling deeply, and focused on the ground instead of the gift she held in her hand.

"The thing about presents, Lo, they can't open themselves." Kenzi touched Lauren's elbow and urged her on. Bo was at the breaking point now, hearing them call each other nicknames, being so openly affectionate with one another. _Alive!_ Wherever they were, she wanted to be there, too, _now._

Lauren rustled through the tissue sprouting from the bag, and thrilled at the sight of Kenzi's gift. "Here," she said, handing the scarf to Kenzi, "you should put it on me."

Kenzi draped the delicate material around her friend's shoulders and stepped back admiring her own handiwork, fussing at the folds a little, in search of perfection. Bo's heart ached at the sight of Lauren's smile, the downward cast of her eyes as she smoothed her fingertips over the fabric, a faint blush on her cheek rising.

"This isn't like an engagement scarf or anything like that, so don't get your hopes up." Like Lauren, Kenzi also seemed to avoid direct eye contact.

"You'll always be the one that got away," Lauren tilted her head and let out a dramatic sigh. "But hey, it's my birthday," she smoothed a hand over Kenzi's arm. "How about I buy us a celebratory cocktail?"

At this, Kenzi's shyness disappeared. "In how many languages can you sing Happy Birthday anyway?"

"Including Swahili? Maybe six or seven."

"Swahili, huh." Kenzi looped her hand into the crook of Lauren's elbow and they turned not only away from the shop but also from Bo, the heels of their shoes clicking merrily down the narrow street paved in stones. A light breeze brushed against Bo's cheeks as she watched them pull away. She licked her lips at the sudden taste of salt, which could equally have been the fault of the sea or from the stream of her own tears.

* * *

Bo suddenly collapsed against Bruce. Everyone was silent, even the usually inappropriate Mesmer. Bo searched the room as she sat within the cradle of Bruce's arms, her eyes acknowledging the presence of Vex for the first time. "How long have you been here?"

Tamsin, worried at the confusion she interpreted in Bo's eyes, spoke for him. "Not long."

Still looking at Vex, Bo interrogated him whilst holding the scarf. "You brought this…"

Vex nodded, his body still as stone.

"Where?" she asked, becoming more alert.

"Barcelona."

"And you saw them." Droplets of hope began to drip and mingle with her blood, triggering alertness that neither Tamsin nor Bruce had seen from Bo in so very long. Vex nodded again.

Bo openly wept as she leapt toward the empty air, "She's alive!" She turned to Bruce and grabbed his arms, remembering that he had said the charm on the scarf right before her. "You saw her, them! Kenzi!"

"Yes, my Queen," he assured her.

"Is that who you saw?" Tamsin said to the pair on the bed.

"She's alive. I couldn't have seen her through this," she held the scarf aloft, "if this wasn't hers, now could I?"

"You can only evoke the memories attached to the charmed object, and its owner," Bruce confirmed.

"Vex!" Bo pushed herself free from Bruce. "Take me to them."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, love," he looked at Tamsin, "I don't know where they are."

Tamsin raged, "Explain!"

"Flew the coop. Took a powder. Made like a tree, and—"

"—Enough." Tamsin shoved Vex back a step. "And you didn't go after them?"

"I lost their scent and besides, darlings, I'm a Mesmer not a tracker. But…"

"But what?" Bo was on her knees and felt the rapid beating of her heart.

"If one had a nose like a wolf, it shouldn't be too difficult to follow their tracks now that I've made actual contact."

Bo inched her way off the bed and planted her bare feet onto the floor. _Steady._ She rooted herself there for what felt like an eternity to the trio in the room. She took slow and deliberate steps across the room, stopping in front of the full-length mirror that had been ignored these many months. She took in her own reflection as Bruce, Tamsin, and Vex slid into view a few paces behind her. Bo concentrated on the figure standing there, absorbing the shadows beneath her eyes, her waxen color, and the surprising thinness of her once taut muscles. She cupped the crown of her head into her palms and turned toward the center of the room. The mausoleum, into which her heart had been entombed, had at last been cracked open—setting Bo free and choking for life, for Kenzi—for Lauren again, _her as it always will be_.

She approached the giant and hugged him tight to her chest. "You have my blood oath that this was the last time." Then turning to Tamsin, "And thank you both for bringing me back."

Vex stood the furthest away and was unsure not only of what Bo might say and do to him but also for concealing the existence and whereabouts of her beloved. Bo surprised him with a declaration of longing, "Did she think of me? Does she—"

Vex debated with himself on how to answer, aware that if she heard the truth that Lauren did not once ask about her might send her running back into darkness. Tamsin sensed Vex's hesitation and stepped in front of him, smiling softly at Bo. "Maybe you should ask her yourself. C'mon," she said placing her hands on Bo's shoulders, "let's go get your girl."

* * *

There you have it. Thanks for the read. If you are so inclined, your thoughts, a review, a subtle nod by your fingertips upon the keyboard would be much appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Thank you for sticking with this little tale which has, by its own mind, taken a journey entirely on its own. Thank you also to the readers who have left comments, feedback, and reviews-especially Kravn whose encouragement has been invaluable. I honestly thought this would last only five chapters, max. Clearly, fate had another plan for it all along. This chapter is a bit of a "connector" and answers some questions posed by you, the readers. In the words of Lauren Lewis, "Everything I do, is for you."

The characters of Lost Girl belong to its creators and ShowCase. And now, in honor of National Poetry Month, I present to you Chapter 9. Your thoughts and insights, as always, are appreciated. Now, where were we?

* * *

**Barcelona**

Dyson picked up their scent upon entering the dark stairwell to Lauren and Kenzi's apartment. Dyson, along with Tamsin, Bruce, and Bo found the flat unlocked and the rooms shabby and threadbare, all as Vex had described and yet as neat as a hospital, of course it was, Lauren had lived there. Even the limits of their runaway existence could not keep their singular natures from rising: the tidiness of the flat was all Lauren, Bo surmised, just as the collection of tequila and vodka bottles must have been Kenzi's. Bo couldn't help but laugh, imagining the two of them drinking themselves into the dawn, maybe downstairs or up here on the roof, dreaming away without her, their anger with her flooding the bottom of their glasses, cold and watery as ice. She'd been sitting alone sipping directly from one of the bottles left behind—the alcohol numbing her lips and warming the insides of her pain. She wondered what she'd say to them, what her first words might be, or if Lauren or Kenzi would even give her the chance to say a word. Alone on the roof, Bo drank to hope, hope that Dyson would pick up their trail and find them straight away.

"Bo," she heard his raspy voice behind her, as well as the slow and deliberate footsteps of the Fae that had gone with him.

"You don't have to tell me; I can sense it." Bo swigged directly from the bottle without turning around to face them.

"We got as far as the waterfront," he went on. "If they're anywhere, it's on a ship. Their scent is gone with the tide."

"Can you tell which one?" Bo asked him.

"At least a dozen ships dock here every day. It would be impossible—"

"—_Impossible_ is what helped me survive all those years I was hidden from the Fae. _Impossible_ is what kept Lauren alive even though she was nothing but a slave to your kind. _Impossible _is Kenzi being smart enough to convince a race of super Fae to embrace her as an equal rather than as a side dish to be served with breadsticks." The trio of Tamsin, Dyson, and Bruce observed Bo raging on, caring less with every word whether or not anyone listened.

"Impossible is kicking the Garuda's ass and killing that demon fucker from hell," she continued, agitation present in her voice as it picked up speed. "Impossible is not giving up and I won't because it'd be impossible for me to live another day, hoping for even a second of happiness if I didn't do everything possible to get to Kenzi and Lauren again."

"When you put it that way," Tamsin answered, "I guess finding a pair of humans would be a walk in the park."

"But knowing Kenzi and Lauren," Dyson reasoned. "They're traveling under an alias. Who would we be looking for? We'd need to comb through thousands upon thousands…"

"…of names, I know. Then, we better get started." Bo took a moment to pull her thoughts together. "Or, we can split up and go after them."

"Look," she motioned to them with renewed clarity. "I see five, maybe six ships. Obvious ones, big ones. Let's say that number was the same the day Lauren and Kenzi left. If you can find out the names of those ships and you'll find—

"—the ports of call for each ship," Tamsin looked over at Dyson, pleading with him to see things in a more positive light.

"It's a shot, right? Dyson, wouldn't you be able to tell, by their scent, if they were on it? I could sway the crew, the passengers for information. Bruce, you can come with me. Tamsin and Dyson you can go together."

Dyson shook his head. "Even if that made sense, who's to say that they didn't already jump the ship they left on. There's nothing to keep them onboard."

"The manifest," Bruce piped in for the first time. "Every ship has a crew and a passenger manifest. He read the surprise on their faces. "Merchant marine, sixteen years." He paused briefly before continuing.

"Every person on a ship, crew and passenger, is given a boarding card which is swiped through a machine every time they get on and off. When that card goes through the system, it displays the cardholder's name _and_ their picture. No card, no entry, no exit."

"You'd be able to track their every move." Dyson saw the logic.

"And where there's a picture, there's a database. I'm on it!" Tamsin hastened toward the door leading from the roof.

Bo rushed the giant man and threw her arms around him. Then, peering over her shoulder at Dyson, she said loud enough for him to hear, "Finally, someone with brawn _and _brains."

* * *

**The Mediterranean Sea, sailing west**

Something bothered Kenzi all afternoon and her tone the last hour had been irksome and mildly acidic, and Lauren felt as if every word spoken was a worm wriggling on a hook. "Who is it tonight?" Kenzi asked her, "an apple, an olive, a peach?

Lauren fought to stay neutral, aware of Kenzi's irritation but not the cause of it. "She is a doctor and _she_ has a name…and I so wish you'd stop referring to my dates as food."

"That's what they are, aren't they?"

Lauren peered at Kenzi's reflection in the mirror, her friend's teasing smirk bouncing right back at her. Lauren accepted the invitation for dinner in—_where were they now exactly, Mykonos, Santorini? Malta?_

Kenzi concentrated on a sheaf of black and white photographs fanned across the top of Lauren's bed. "Remember this?" she held one out for Lauren. In it, she'd snapped Lauren's profile, elegant and slender, half in and out of darkness, at peace and lost in her own world in the middle of the chaos of the Grand Bazaar. Her head was bowed, contemplating a slender volume Lauren plucked seemingly at random from an antiques seller in the market. They'd almost missed it as the bookseller's stall was pinched between one that sold fake Aladdin's lamps and Fezzes to tourists and another that spread out spices and beans by the bushel, filling that little space with scents of cumin and dry grass. Lauren studied the image and remembered the stickiness in the air—it had just finished raining—and the stream of steady complaints Kenzi flung about like peanut shells.

"Everything smelled like fish and armpits." Kenzi scooted up the bed on her knees until she was able to prop her chin over Lauren's shoulder.

"Yeah, but someone didn't want to get her hair wet…your one rule as I recall. So it was either catch rain or stay dry in the market." Lauren pointed at the photo. "I like how you caught that." A lone tunnel of light broke through a vent in the ceiling and struck her like a beacon, capturing the slight tenderness that had crept upon Lauren's lips, visible in profile even in the half-light.

_"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,"_ Kenzi recited slowly, her chin still resting on Lauren.

_"I love you simply, without problems or pride,"_ Lauren tilted the side of her head so that their temples touched. "I'm surprised that you remember."

"That's _all_ I can remember," Kenzi took the picture back and sat back on the bed, returning the photo to the stack she'd been flipping through.

Lauren stepped back to get Kenzi's appraisal of her outfit. "Well?"

"Button down, getting down," she chirped without looking up.

"It's only dinner." Lauren neared the end of her patience.

"Right, dinner." Lauren felt the scrutiny in Kenzi's voice. "You wear the drapey purple thing when it's sex—if memory, no, if reality serves."

"Did you just call me a slut?"

"_Moi? Jamais, jamais, jamais,"_ Kenzi teased, while holding the flat of her hand against her chest. Just as quickly, she was bothered again. "I'd say my aim is true. Plus, you've been extra chummy with this one. I don't typically see you with your conquests during the daylight hours. You're four for four, Doc—and that's not counting the last two weeks in Istanbul."

* * *

**Istanbul**

"This is a total bust." There wasn't a lot of room and yet Bo managed to pace the single room studio like a feral animal and when she did stop, it was to take in the view of Istanbul, congested, swarming with people, and choking on its own noise. She imagined Lauren and Kenzi climbing its hills with Lauren unraveling the city's mysteries through palm-lined parks, the minarets and battered arches, even the breeze skimming across the Bosporus, which on this afternoon, chilled the skin on Bo's exposed arms. "Those two clearly have a thing for being near the water," she weathered a mild complaint as she shut the windows. Then, she turned to Tamsin and Dyson, "I thought you two were professionals."

Tamsin's fingers raced over the laptop keyboard as she answered Bo, never breaking focus from the screen. "Kenzi is one of the finest hackers I've ever come across. When she buries a lead, she goes _magma._ The Matrix has got nothing on her algorithms. She's put a delay on everything."

"And the doc must be using Fae secretions to hide their tracks," Dyson parked himself on the loveseat next to Tamsin, slumping deep into the cushions. He draped a forearm over his eyes.

Besides the couch where the pair sat, there were only four other pieces of furniture: a small, round butcher-block table with two wooden folding chairs, and a mattress on a floor, which barely contained a sleeping Bruce. With his limbs hanging over the sides, it was like watching a giant trying to get cozy on a postage stamp. Bo searched for clues in everything, even in this cramped studio, and the thought occurred to her that Lauren and Kenzi must have grown closer to not only live together in this tight space but also not kill each other in it. She disliked the idea that their friendship bloomed without her. Their pursuit had taken them through cities and villages and countrysides dotted with Cypress trees, and Bo did not flag or waiver—until today. She ran herself and her companions ragged as hounds on a hunt and, had she relented even just a little, she might have noticed that this was the first time they'd stopped anywhere for longer than a day.

Bo darted her eyes between the wolf and the Valkyrie. Tamsin caught her gaze just as she looked up from the screen. "When was the last time you fed? You look pitiful."

"I made a vow," Bo turned away from her; she was not going to have this conversation again.

"Yes, your oath to withhold feeding," Tamsin snarked. "Ignore me. That's right. I'm just a thousand year old Fae telling a baby Fae how to stay alive. What the hell do I know?"

Dyson lifted his forearm and his eyes wandered appreciatively at Tamsin, giving the Valkyrie a look that Bo sensed went beyond their partnership as cops or even friendship. "There are two of us," he pointed between himself and Tamsin. "Bruce alone probably counts as two more. You have our blood oath. We can sustain you and no one will ever know. Not Kenzi," he said lowering his eyes, "and not Lauren."

"No,_ I_ would know." Bo crossed her arms. "No more oaths. No more promises. I don't doubt that you can keep your word," Bo paused, ruminating over the road that led to this misery. "Kenzi gave up on me. Lauren ran because I gave her no reason to stay," she remembered how Lauren had looked at her accusingly the last time they were together.

"I won't starve," she turned toward Tamsin and Dyson. "It's okay for me to be hungry. It's what I deserve."

Tamsin sneered and clapped her hands together slowly. She did nothing to disguise her distaste for anything resembling self-pity. Dyson grabbed her hands to her lap to get her to stop. "Fine," she glared at Dyson then at Bo. "_Starvation_. It's what's for dinner."

It was then that Bo noticed that Dyson's hands hadn't left Tamsin's, and her snarky look was slowly fading into one of tenderness. Their eyes, though weary, locked onto each other's as Dyson rubbed his thumb in circles across the back of Tamsin's hands. He brought his lips to her ears saying something that made her giggle and stare back at him just a little too long. The gesture might have made her feel jealous some time ago; instead, observing their deepening affection ratcheted up Bo's loneliness.

"Look," Bo sighed, "this was bound to happen, us getting on each other's nerves. Maybe it's time for a break. The two of you should take the night off. Go exploring. I'll stay with Bruce."

"You don't need to tell me twice," Tamsin lit up.

"I could go for a bite," Dyson flirted with Tamsin, practically licking his lips.

"Famished, yeah," she raised a single brow, "me, too." Tamsin slammed her laptop closed and jumped to her feet with renewed energy. Grabbing Dyson's hand, she tugged him along with her as she hurried toward the door of the flat. "Don't wait up," Bo heard her shout as the couple spirited out into the night.

* * *

Two seas, the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara, spilled into the Bosporus Strait and divided the two shores of Istanbul, the only city on earth that was a part of Asia and Europe, straddling the old, the new, the west and the east. Bo would not have known this history—she had neither the affinity nor curiosity to study—but of emotions and the sensation of being divided, on this she could pen a lengthy thesis. How could a queen of a powerful, nearly immortal race be humbled by the weakest of creatures? She straddled two worlds, Fae and human, split, like the city of Istanbul, by the finest of lines. A tug of war raged on within her heart—to surrender or continue, which way to go—and, thinking she was alone, she gave into the exhaustion and disappointment of the last few weeks and cried.

Bruce awoke quietly and had the grace to approach Bo without calling attention to her tears. "There," he pointed to a grand dome in the distance, "that is the Hagia Sophia."

Bo swiped at her tears quickly, pretending that something had gotten into her eyes, taking a big gulp of air to clear her throat. She nodded as Bruce continued to point at the monuments dotting the city's hilly streets.

"That over there is the Blue Mosque," Bo followed the direction of his arm. "And that, that is the Ayasofya Hamam, said to be the oldest and most beautiful Turkish bath in Istanbul, a glorious temple, and a gift," he added with a flourish, "from Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent to his favorite wife."

"That's some gift. You always surprise me, Bruce." Bo felt a little cheered by him. "How do you know this stuff?"

"I've lived a long time, my Queen."

"I keep forgetting how old you all are." She looked up at the giant, thoughtfully. "Tamsin and Dyson. When did that happen?"

"People fall in love everyday," Bruce shrugged.

"The stuff a girl misses when she goes a little crazy," she could appreciate Bruce's nonchalance towards the obvious romance, something she wished she might cultivate, too, but before she could allow another wave of self pity to wash over her, Bruce cleared his throat and, lifting his chin and placing a fist over his heart, he closed his eyes and murmured sweet words of love:

_"__Oh God, let me know the pain of love_

_Do not for even a moment separate me from it_

_Do not lessen your aid to the afflicted_

_But rather, make lovesick me one among them."_

Bo was stunned. "That's beautiful, I think."

"It's from the legend of _Layla and Majnun_, an epic tale that's been sung and interpreted for centuries by poets throughout the East from Persia, India, and Turkey—but the essence is the same: Layla and Majnun fall in love but their love is forbidden. They are separated when her father marries Layla to another man—but Majnun does not give up. He searches the world for her, only to go mad at not being able to be with his beloved."

"Only love can break your heart. That's comforting." Bo despaired over the idea of not being reunited with her best friend and—well, would it be fair to call Lauren her lover?

"Those verses belong to Majnun. He wanders, tormented, but does not seek pity or even a cure. He wants to feel everything that comes with love–both beautiful and terrible. Some say the poem shows how love and pain are inseparable."

Bo took strange comfort in listening to a giant who could kill with his bare arms and just as easily cleave one's heart simply by reciting the forgotten words of a poem.

"Go on, please,_"_ she encouraged him. Bruce had totally disarmed her and everything about this moment seemed enchanted, especially the sky, which ached for moonlight even as the last stripes of dusk clung unevenly to it.

"To love greatly and with all your heart in this lifetime, that kind of love is rare and epic—and perhaps, that is the only way to love. For me, this is the true meaning of _Layla and Majnun._"

She didn't quite understand why Bruce would share a story of unrequited love in the middle of her own desperate search. But to love with all your heart—her heart Kenzi, and Lauren who _owned_ it—forever, these were the cornerstones of an epic love and, for some, maybe even herself, burdens too heavy to bear. Weariness seeped into her bones and the idea of letting go and ending this quest began to seem like a rational choice.

"I once told Lauren I wanted to travel the world but only with her," she laughed to herself, disillusioned, "how ironic." She wasn't aware that she'd been leaning so heavily against Bruce's massive arm. Bo stifled the hopelessness trapped in her throat. "What if I never see them again?"

"You won't, Bo." Bruce answered, his voice brimming with tenderness. "Not if you're going to starve yourself to death."

At that, Bo let go of the last, loose threads that barely bound her heart into one piece. She buried her face into the giant's chest and wept. When her tears subsided, Bruce loosened his embrace without fully letting her go.

"A few steps away from the other side of that bridge, there is a large open market. Quite famous, very crowded. And very popular with foreigners and tourists especially at this time of night." He smiled at Bo. "Will you go there with me? I'm sure we can find you a _souvenir?_"

Bo watched as the red sun glazed the grand domes and tops of the minarets with a golden light; and she heard the throaty, yearning song of the _azan_ echo and curl through the hills and streets of Istanbul calling the faithful to prayer. She did not understand the words but the ache in the singer's cry resonated within her. Like Majnun, she had fallen into madness and now searched the world for her beloved. Perhaps the song awakened her faith and brought down any hollow oath she'd made in the desert of her despair. It was time for hope, to feel the beautiful with the terrible, to go on.

To go on.

* * *

**The Mediterranean Sea, sailing west**

"Hate the game not the _play-a_," Lauren said to Kenzi, the words coming out a bit starched.

"Okay, no," Kenzi snickered. "You cannot start running my lines just because you have me quoting Neruda and shit."

"I won't stay out too late. I'll be back at a decent hour."

"I don't care if it's indecent I worry about you, Lauren. About us. I mean, we have brought the word _incredible_ to a whole new level, but—"

"Stop complaining. What do you always say? _Learn to enjoy your shit."_

Kenzi snorted and dropped her forehead into her palms as she sat back in Lauren's bed. "Sunburns and seasickness."

"What?" Lauren had almost made a clean getaway with one foot out the door. She closed it with a thud and prepared for the fight that had been brewing between them.

"You heard me," her voice snapping and clearly hostile. "That's your shit now, Lauren, and we both know you're better than that. Unlike me, you actually know how to do stuff. You hand out aspirins and Dramamine like candy. You take inventory of the number of bottles of aloe in stock—_every day_. You haven't said one sciency thing in weeks. I'm starting to feel smarter than you and that can't be good."

Lauren advanced toward the bed, flipping the pictures on the bed like cards, then another and another, handling them roughly and briskly, as if the edges were on fire.

"Stop! Careful!" Kenzi thrust her hand out for Lauren to stop. "That's my work."

"I think I've made my point." Lauren eased herself onto the bed next to Kenzi, and she pointed to the photographs. "They're beautiful, all of them…and you're wrong Kenzi, _you_ can do stuff."

"Mad skills," Kenzi said half heartedly, as she arranged the photos in some mysterious order. Kenzi looked up mid task, "Lauren, are you thinking about leaving me?"

"What?!"

Kenzi rattled off what she saw as clues. "You bought that book of poetry by that Spanish dude. And you gave it to your new fuck buddy—not judging, just saying. I see you two together—in the daytime! You talk about the one rule. What's yours? _Say goodbye at breakfast."_

Lauren studied the hurt she perceived in Kenzi's face. She had seen that look only once, a few hours after Kenzi had buried Hale and joined her at the very beginning of this odyssey.

Lauren dropped her doe eyes and explained with a softness in her voice. "Her name is Dr. Pallas, Nuria Pallas. She's with Doctors Without Borders. I found this out over a few drinks and, surprisingly, even though we were both clearly drunk and stupid, _and_ attracted to each other…Nuria graciously rejected my offer of spending the night.

"For some reason, I found it funny and refreshing and a bit bruising to my ego—which is probably just what I needed. And what she needed was a friend. All Nuria wanted was to talk. So we did. All through the night and into breakfast."

"You didn't sleep with her?"

"Don't look so surprised, Kenzi. I don't sleep with my _friends_."

"But what about the book of love poems?"

"Ah yes, that," she smiled while rolling her eyes upward. "Nuria is flying back to the states to propose to her girlfriend. Supposed to be a surprise," Lauren shrugged. "Sometimes there's courage in poetry."

"You bought the book for her?"

"Originally, yes. But then after all her talk of being in love—she gave it back to me, which at first, I thought was odd. Then she said I probably needed romance more than she did." Lauren had come close to revealing to her new friend the real reasons behind her life at sea; while she didn't attach a specific tale as the source of her obvious melancholy, the oil of Lauren's sadness greased every word, every look, and every anecdote until Nuria recognized that Lauren's search for adventure had been a quest to forget. Something. _Someone._

"Well, don't I feel like a chump. That still doesn't explain why you kept this from me."

"You know how I took that copy of _Peter Pan_ from our flat in London? Growing up it was one of my favorite books, especially the part when Wendy says she could hear the mermaids singing as they sailed over Neverland."

"So?"

"I've heard the mermaids singing for almost a year and it's been beautiful." Lauren hesitated. "Maybe it's time to–"

"–grow up_?_"Kenzi patted the back of Lauren's hand. "And you think you got your yaya's out of your system?"

Lauren smiled to herself, scanning the playback of the last year. She had taken her fill of every passing delight and done quite well, but something was missing and she couldn't pretend it away any longer. Not even to strangers on a ship.

"Being a volunteer doctor can be a hard gig, Kenzi. You're sent where you can do the most good, pretty much to places that some say are better off being forgotten. And when you get there, you wish you could unsee everything around you." Lauren got off the bed and put some distance between her and Kenzi. She stuffed her hands into her pockets. "I wanted to learn as much as I could from Dr. Pallas. What I'd be in for. What it's really like in the field. I guess it's the researcher in me.

"I wanted to know everything before asking if you'd well, leave this," she motioned to the wall of photographs taken by Kenzi over the past year: portraits of the cities into which Lauren sank and sinned to exhaustion, the shadows and bursts of light that served as their journal, each frame capturing their story of reinvention told over and over in sepia.

"Kenzi and Lauren save the world, the crowd goes wild!" Kenzi roared quietly followed by meek cheering sounds.

_"_No more souvenir photo shoots next to the ship's lifesaver or by butter sculptures of the Venus de Milo." Lauren palmed the photographs and fanned them wide so they created a beautiful collage of images, artful, personal, and breathtaking. The one of Lauren in the grand bazaar caught both their eyes. "But something tells me you're better than that, too."

"Take it," Kenzi pushed the photograph into her hand.

Lauren studied the photograph and remembered it as if it were a dream. She knew why she had smiled that day. Not because of the pleasure of having found a dusty book but because of the treasure she'd left behind. The lines within the book of poems she held in hand, so intimate and profound, conspired against her in that moment. The love she fought to ignore drummed steadily in her heart in spite of any resistance. Even in the midst of the frenzy of the Grand Bazaar, Bo had seeped into her skin through the words that leapt so effortlessly from the page: "_I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close."_ These were the words of Neruda; this was the song of her heart. There isn't only courage within poetry; there is truth.

Lauren felt Kenzi staring at her. Her mouth formed into a half smile. "Are you in?" she asked gently.

"Really, Lauren?" Kenzi mocked her. "For a genius, you ask some pretty dumb questions."

* * *

**Singapore**

After months in fleabag apartments, Tamsin insisted on an upgrade. Either Bo found them decent rooms in Singapore or Tamsin would quit, which was unlikely to happen, but still, an aggravated Valkyrie behaved very much like a Harpy: annoying, cruel, and prone to generally ugly behavior especially during mealtime. "For the love of Minerva," Dyson had begged, "give her what she wants!" So Bo acquiesced and moved them into suites in one of Singapore's highest towers, fifty-five floors above the marina with aerial views of tree-lined roads and the sparkling skyline of mirrors and chrome. They'd traveled throughout Asia for weeks and were only just starting to grow accustomed to the constant humidity and inferno of the tropics. They felt ridiculous in their leathers: the corset-grabbing vests, even the thigh-high boots Bo adored seemed superfluous. She, like her traveling party, had transitioned to more native-friendly outfits, opting for light, loose fitting fabrics and the pajama-style pants that made it possible for them to avoid wilting everywhere they went.

There had been another reason besides Tamsin's ill temper that drove her need for Bo to put them up in a decent hotel: Tamsin and Bruce noticed Bo's thinness returning. "I don't want to get her hopes up yet," Tamsin had confided with Bruce. "But we are closer than we've ever been, I can sense it. And she'll need her strength. Singapore is known for it's street food. She needs to pull up to the buffet for a few days, you get me?" Bruce nodded conspiratorially. "Count on me. I'll take care of her." Over the next few days while Bruce toured Bo through the Muslim, Hindu, and Chinese quarters, then taking her to see the dragon boat races, and slurping high tea at former colonial outposts, Tamsin and Dyson took advantage of their spectacular lodgings to reacquaint themselves with each other with renewed vigor, the undercurrent of Bo's frantic search still palpable, perhaps even fueling the long-denied passion between the Valkyrie and the Wolf. Bo experienced a different side of life, elegant and marvelous—how many times had she read the word _minced_ in a menu —an expatriate life she hadn't expect to savor this much. She sampled all the varied and exotic temptations Bruce set before her, and yes, even the carnal kind. Unlike the many platters of tea sandwiches and braised ragouts that invited second and third helpings, Bo dined modestly when it came to feeding on chi. In this crazy, up-ended world in which Bo spun, the more she tasted and the more she lived left little doubt that no life force, Fae or human, would ever satisfy her desire for a normal life or quell the constant hunger she carried for the love of the human doctor who got away.

* * *

**Siem Reap, Cambodia**

"Welcome, Dr. Barrie," the young Cambodian greeter extended his hand to the slender blonde woman as she approached from customs. He had been holding a sign with the name _JM Barrie, MD_ written on it. "I trust your flight was pleasant?"

"As if we were floating on a cloud," she lied. Like every flight, it had been a white knuckler for Lauren and yet the doctor's smile was nothing short of calming. "And please," she took his hand into hers, giving it a brisk shake. "Call me Jamie." She turned to the younger, dark-haired woman standing right behind her. "And this is my colleague, Hook."

"Hook?" he repeated, tilting his head in curiosity, wondering how someone so dark could be the companion of one so fair.

She seemed to read his confusion. "It's a nickname," Kenzi shrugged. "Long story. If it's easier, call me Alexandra."

Then, perhaps thinking it poor manners to call attention to his guests another second longer, he placed his palms together and held them beneath his chin, and gave a slight bow of his head to Kenzi and Lauren. _"Dr. Jamie. Miss Alexandra._ I am Tek and I will be your guide in Siem Riep, and I will also help you re-settle the clinic."

"And when is that?" the doctor enthused. "I'm ready."

"Of course, Dr. Jamie. All the Western volunteers are usually eager and we are grateful. But first, the Red Cross has arranged a three-day stay here so that you may rest, enjoy our city, and explore the temples. A private sea plane will take us the rest of the way."

Lauren gripped Kenzi's hand as they slid into the back seat of the car waiting for them at curbside. In all this time, Lauren's fear of flying had not faded in the least—and _a seaplane?_ This would test her. "I was hoping to see the country up close. By train? By bus?"

Tek laughed from the front seat. "That would be a very rough journey of several days, Dr. Jamie. We are in the middle of the rainy season. Most roads may already be washed out. The rain forest is not kind this time of year, even for us, who know the way. Much better to fly," he insisted cheerfully before turning around to face the direction the car was moving.

Lauren's assignment with the International Red Cross was to restore an abandoned clinic on the southern coast of Cambodia that had been evacuated prior to a hurricane slamming into the area years earlier. After reviewing the topography from a satellite image, she suggested the outpost be moved a few miles inland away from the shore. Relocating it, Dr. Barrie proposed (and as Lauren had to remember to call herself), that the thick-limbed banyans and stubborn bamboo groves would provide an improved and natural protection against the whims of nature. Plus, it would place the station midway between the beach landing, accessible by seaplane or boat—and the dirt roads that connected the villages in the interior. The doctor was ambitious and also lobbied for installation of a water purification system and the addition of a schoolhouse. Maybe even the start of an ecosystem educational project to teach sustainable farming and fishing. The idea of being useful again—no feeling on earth could compare, and Lauren's nerve endings tingled, giddy and energized in a way that was familiar and most welcome. Kenzi came along as Alexandra Hook, an aspiring photojournalist hoping to shed light on how emerging economies were dealing with global warning.

Their watertight identities, however, did nothing to disguise Lauren's terror of flying. Prior to boarding, both Lauren and Kenzi stood on a scale with their luggage to ensure that the plane—which looked only slightly bigger than a Mini-Cooper—could be balanced properly in flight. Knowing this did nothing for Lauren's confidence, and even though the flight lasted less than an hour, it had been an eternity for her; and longer still, for Kenzi, who held Lauren's hair as she emptied the entire contents of her stomach on the beach when they landed. They packed the bare essentials: medical supplies, camping equipment, and a satellite radio. Anything outside of that, Lauren and Kenzi had to improvise or hope to salvage upon arrival. They were to catalog and assess the damage, the scope of medical and construction requirements to facilitate reopening of the site, and recommend improvements that would keep the station up and running again.

Kenzi propped herself on one of the military-style duffel bags they had brought with them and that were still scattered upon the sand. "How you feelin' there Linda Blair?"

"Like I'm carrying the demon seed." Lauren dabbed at her neck with a handkerchief she'd soaked in the cool water of the tide.

Kenzi stood up with her back to the sea and surveyed the buildings on the beach: a handful of small, bamboo-framed huts, a larger barracks with a thatched roof and which was likely a multi-purpose common space, and heavy equipment which might have served some important purpose years ago, but looked more like bleached industrial carcasses, like the animal heads one finds in a white desert, familiar in form but far from alive.

Tek came bounding out of the largest of the huts, waving at the two women. "Good news! Most everything is in still in place. I'll radio the nearest village. We should have food and fresh water by nightfall. If you please, Dr. Jamie and Miss Alexandra, I think you may be most comfortable sharing the cabin on the end. It still has a roof!" Then, he turned and rushed back into the barracks.

"Dear God please let there be a bed," Lauren, exhaled in relief now that her stomach cramps had subsided. She'd managed to sit up on her knees and rolled her eyes at Kenzi, pitiful and emptied of anything close to bravado.

"Please God, let there be vodka. Lots and lots," Kenzi groaned while leaning her head into the cradle of her palms she held at the back of her neck. "This is a shit hole. A tropical shit hole but a shit hole."

She helped Lauren to her feet and together they digested the collection of stilted huts barely able to stand on their own. Laughing, they joked about how much this little village of forgotten lean-to's reminded them of the clubhouse, its draftiness, the absence of walls, and the sense that the whole place could come crashing down simply by sneezing the wrong way.

Lauren wrapped an arm around Kenzi, and pecked her on the cheek. "Welcome home."

* * *

**Singapore**

Tamsin shook Dyson's sleeping body next to hers.

"Wake up, Dy. I'm going to rock your world."

"It's two-dark thirty in the morning," he grunted, face down in the center of their king-sized bed. "Please let me make love to these sheets for a few more hours. Eyes closed. In fact, no talking. No moving."

Tamsin elbowed him until he groggily sat up against the head board, scratching his beard. "Stop punching me. I come in peace."

Tamsin laughed. "I wouldn't say that." She brought the laptop to his chest, pointing to a document so badly scanned that the letters were barely legible. "Read it, there."

Dyson squinted. _"International Red Cross Station, Tonlé Sap Lake, Siem Reap, Cambodia."_

"Wait," Tamsin instructed and scrolled the page. "Read that, then scroll."

_"International Medical Team Advisor, JM Barrie, MD."_ As Dyson scrolled, the top of the doctor's head inched higher and higher until the wrinkled, black and white passport picture came into view: the blonde hair, the angular jaw, the graceful neck and the tight smile punctuated by dimples. "Lauren! Wait, how old is this document?"

"Dated four weeks ago. I also checked with immigration. There's no record of them leaving…yet."

Dyson sent the laptop tumbling to the floor as he threw his arms around Tamsin, smothering her with kisses.

"Who's your Daddy?" she smiled into his mouth. "Do you think we could order room service one more time before we wake Bo?"

* * *

AN: Yup. It was a long one. Please leave a note if you are so inclined. Thank you for reading.


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